


When Universes Collide

by ikoliholic (makeme)



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Blending, Explicit Sexual Content, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki Redemption, Loki-centric, M/M, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Post-Movie(s), Set in MCU, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:05:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 49,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeme/pseuds/ikoliholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is a bedraggled, despised turncoat, battling and avenging his way alone through the Infinity War with little success. Even Thor has now abandoned him. So when Loki's offered a second chance to write his story, by a <em>different</em> Loki who claims to be from another universe, will he accept it?</p><p>Expect confusion, brotherly redemption, deceit, vague ongoing threats, trust issues, and <em>lots</em> of forgotten memories resurfacing as Loki attempts to take on his biggest adversary of all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into The Void (Again)

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear, this story is set within the MCU, and the main character is MCU Loki - also known to us as Tom Hiddleston. 
> 
> You don't need to have read any AoA or know what 'the other' Loki has been through in the wider comic universe (Journey into Mystery, Young Avengers etc.) to understand what's going on here, though there will be a few bits and pieces that readers of the comics will recognise.
> 
> Phew! Okay, waffle over. Enjoy.

As the Infinity War rages on, Loki has forgotten what it was he was actually fighting for in the first place. He has seen things, been a part of things that he'd rather forget. Atrocities bigger than genocide, bigger than ruling one kingdom, or even several. Death on an unprecedented level. The demise of Asgard, which he never wanted to witness. Worlds wiped into obliteration, no consideration and no hope.

It was the closest thing he had to resemble a home, Asgard. Despite all of his hatred for its patrons and for its golden beauty, he did not want to see it fall at the hands of Thanos. Never in his wildest nightmares could he have imagined the terror fleeting across not just the World Tree, but beyond, _far beyond_.

Yes, he has seen too much - his own hand a catalyst to wickedness that he could not have predicted. Not even Loki can forgive the things he himself has done, so it comes as no surprise to him that nobody else can; he is therefore not welcome to fight against that which he helped to put into such a strong position of power, but he fights regardless, alone, unsure of what else to do in the circumstances. 

Avenging, alone.

Amidst the incessant and endless chaos, Loki spots an opportunity in the dark sky above him. He can feel the black drag, its familiar nothingness and its particular allure. He has his chance - the void is calling him.

Instead of pointlessly fighting for an Asgard that has already fallen, having changed sides to nobody's wish and unable to get the retribution he would need to survive -if anything survives, he can instead escape to something that may offer a different fate. Without properly thinking, he propels himself in the air, finding just that exact spot his sorcery has sensed, and he seizes the opportunity.

He is not his brother, nor is he an avenger. He is a _coward_.

Briefly, as he is re-familiarised with the overwhelming emptiness and silence, he wonders if this feeling is what makes Thanos so enamoured with death and destruction.

He continues to fall-float, remembering that the last time he chose this path, he fell straight into the hands of Thanos himself.

As he begins to lose consciousness, he hopes that cosmic death finds him first.

***

Loki wakes up to find himself surrounded by nothing. It is not the same nothing as the void, in fact, it is quite the opposite. Whiteness is everywhere - gleaming, bright, unblemished alabaster that feels both suffocating and liberating at the same time. Infinite.

He goes to stand on his feet —unsure at first if he even can— and finds he can do so quite easily. For a moment, he truly believes himself dead. It feels less heartbreaking than he would have expected, but he is still preparing to put up a fight.

He is always fighting. Always running away, escaping.

So it surprises Loki when he spots something far in the distance - a little black dot that's far, far away. He runs toward it at an alarming pace, running and running with his head bowed down, drawn to the blemish without even needing to look. But then he stops, and _does_ look. What he is faced with both confuses and terrifies him to the core:

Himself.

Well, it's not _exactly_ himself, this Loki looks a little different; he seems slightly younger and just a fraction smaller. His hair is all spiky - sticking up all over the place of its own accord, he's wearing half of a broken-horned helmet that frames his grinning, one-tooth-missing face. His nose is a little smaller, his eyes a little darker. Plus, he wears a tattered, questionable fur-trimmed jacket that Loki has never seen before, nor would he be seen dead in, somewhat ironically.

Nevertheless, he _knows_ it's him. It's not a trick or a lie. It’s _Loki_.

It speaks.

“Why _hello there_ , Mr. Laufeyson.”

Loki stares at himself. 

“Do not call me that,” he spits; the name still hurts even after everything that has happened. It hurts even more to have it repeated to him in his own damned voice.

“Oh, we have ourselves a bitter one here, Verity. Didn't I call it?” Odd-Loki appears to be talking to himself, as he twiddles a bracelet around his wrist that has a fiercely blue gem attached to it, swirling around like a mini vortex. He looks Loki in the eye and winks. “ _Very_ attractive though, even if you have been through a scrap or two. Or y'know, an Infinity War. No biggie or anything, am I right?”

“Where am I?” Loki growls - he is in no mood for himself already. “What is this nothingness?”

“Well you've kind of just answered your own question there, buddy.” Odd-Loki gestures to the white canvas enveloping them. “The Nothing, meet Loki. I believe you're pals with Nothing's friend, The Void…”

“Why am I here? What's happened to me? Why are you here?” Loki grabs him by the tatty coat and tries to be threatening, tired of tricks and joviality. He finds himself smacked across the head by the staff in his double's hand that he hadn't noticed before. “Ow!" he dramatises, as though he had not just been enduring the height of raging, dangerous, endless battle for who knows how long. “What did you do that for? You unkempt fool.”

“Because you're being _you,_ ” he huffs, readjusting his tarnished helmet, “and it is most infuriating.”

Loki imitates his imitator's huff, pitch-perfect. “Perhaps if you'd like to start explaining to me what in the Hel is happening here, then I might not be quite so aggrieved.” 

Strange-Loki crooks his neck. “Very well, but you might wanna sit down for this…”

“I think I'll be _just fine_ , actually," Loki responds stubbornly, remaining upright. 

“Okay, Mr. Stubborn. Okay… Okay. So. Um, awkward. You do know that I'm you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I look different, you _know_ I'm you, yes?”

“For goodness sake, _yes,"_  Loki rolls his eyes with annoyance, 'I'm not an idiot, you know. This is not explaining anything.”

“Give me a chance! Boy are you impatient,” Odd-Loki shakes his head, cajoling. “Maybe I shouldn't have come here. Maybe you're... beyond repair.”

Loki angers, tongue sharpening. “What do you mean, _beyond repair?_  You have a nerve speaking to me in such a way when it looks like you've been dragged through the universe backwards—”

“Add a couple more onto that, and you're getting warmer,” he grins. Loki pauses.

“Wh-what?”

“And after everything you've learned about the galaxies - all of the _misery_ Thanos has inflicted, you still don't realise?” Odd-Loki looks at Loki's confused, almost desperate face and takes pity on him, huffing once more. “There are many universes - a _multiverse_ , Loki. So many realities - so much more than even that wicked, ugly, purple brute can imagine. Different Lokis, different Asgards. Well, kind of the same sometimes. I mean, I've not met any others in person, but I can imagine we're all quite unique in a way, yet fundamentally... Anyway. I'm rambling. So this is how it is. My universe collided with another not so long ago, taking pretty much everything with it.”

Reeling from the information, Loki tries to lean against something, but there is nothing to be leant against in the Nothing, so he unconsciously drops to his knees on the non-floor, eyes wild with thought. “I- I don't know what to say. I'm sorry.”

“You needn't be - but thank you,” he smiles his suspicious, tooth-missing grin, offering his hands out to Loki to pull him back on his feet. Loki obliges. “I’m not here to talk about my stories, or my world. I'm here to talk about yours.”

Loki stares him in the eyes. There is a subtle kindness to this strange, new Loki. Like he knows other things. Or like he may be full of lies.

“What is there to tell?” Loki stops looking at a mirror of what he longs to discover and instead stares down, tears threatening to fall before he even begins to verbalise his own mess of emotions, his shameful story. “I have lost everything, in my worlds. I am despised by all, especially Thor. Nothing remains. Death is winning.”

“Ah, but you don't _know_ that, not yet.”

“It is inevitable. I went to the void to escape my futile reality,” his voice quavers, rich with emotion he cannot contain. “So please, if you would, just leave me to rest alone in peace. It may take some time.” Loki turns away bitterly, but finds himself turned back around, staring at resolve.

“Nope. I would give you a chance - a choice, Loki from Earth-1999999.” Other-Loki has defiance in his voice as he says, “ _Trust me…_ ”

“What choice would you give me?” Loki demands, sceptical.

“Simple, really,” the Other-Loki smiles, flashing a crooked grin. “You can give up, and I can offer you an eternity of peace within the confines of isolation. Not 'death' per se, but certainly the end of your story as you know it - set in stone as it is right now.” His smile turns into a smirk, and he sweeps tongue over teeth before he continues. “Or... Or you can have a chance to change your story. Work a little more magic, y'know? See if there's anything left of your universe. Right your wrongs, maybe wrong your wrongs up even more, who knows? Learn a few things. Be you, but more. That's the beauty of the story, the agony of choice.” He holds Loki's hands in his own. “Which would you choose?”

Loki thinks about the options offered to him, heart racing with something akin to hope. What has he to lose, after all? 

“If it is possible, though I don't think it is…” he takes a deep, desperate breath. “I would change my story.”

The last thing Loki sees before the white obliterates his vision is his own eyes imploring him with fierce, morbid curiosity.


	2. The Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Memories can be a funny thing. How they can craft your future without you even knowing it. Especially childhood ones._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_The writing style in the next couple of chapters are intentionally jarring with that of Chapter 1. The majority of the fic will not be written in this way, just so you know. I took a risk for the sake of plots..._ **

The howling wind is what wakes him up, and as he stands to his feet, he wonders where the Hell he is. Perhaps he actually is in Hell, he thinks as the weather up above echoes through the chamber of the cave, wind wreaking havoc through cracks in the stone, along with slithers of moonlight. No, it's too cold - Hell is hot, right? This place is cold and damp.

Anyway, he's gotta get outta there, because it's dark and scary.

As he squeezes through a small space that seems to be leaking more light -leading to what he hopes will be the exit- he stumbles into a cosy little room. There is a simple fire place - embers from wooden logs smouldering up and out of a whistling chimney breast, a small table with a few papers and things on top and one chair tucked beneath it, a little alcove with bits and pieces of food and crockery stored on stone-carved shelves, and beside the opposite cave wall there is a small bed on the floor. The walls are adorned with strings of multicoloured lights in various shapes and sizes, all twinkly and welcoming and not at all frightening.

The places feels very familiar. The bed looks nice and warm, with it's various blankets and pillows. He suddenly remembers that he's tired. So tired. Next thing he knows, he's all wrapped up under the covers, knees tucked under chin, drifting off to a pleasant sleep.

It could have been minutes, hours, or days - the concept of time seems irrelevant, but the urge to pee is strong, so he clambers out of bed towards the cave-equivalent of a bathroom that he somehow just _knows_ is tucked around the corner. There is a bucket, a well, a pump, a basin and a bathtub. Again, simple yet homely enough. There’s also a mirror hanging on the wall, with yet more multicoloured string lights accompanying it.

He walks to the mirror to look at himself. His greasy black hair curls wildly, contrasting with his overly-pale skin. He speaks to himself in that high-pitched, earnest manner only teenagers can quite manage.

“Lachlan, you look like rubbish. You need some sunlight.”

 _Lachlan_. The name seems odd on his tongue, but he doesn’t question it too much, for he is thinking about golden light instead now. After he's peed into the bucket, he leaves the room, twisting and turning excitedly around a few passageways until he is dazzled by the warm, familiar feeling of sunshine and the type of fresh, wild air that can only be found in the extremity of the Shetland Islands, both forces of nature pelting his skin with ferocity.

The familiar lone magpie often found loitering outside of the cave’s entrance looks at him, beak proud in the air, body tucked into a little alcove in the rock where it has made a nest in the most insufferable of locations. If only magpies could speak…

Lachlan laughs at the notion as he begins climbing up the jagged cliff-face with knowing ease and a fast pace, body lean and taught, noting how the waves crashing below -not too far away from the entrance to his home- bringing with them the tingling, fresh smell of sea salt. The mossy greens adorning patches of rock beneath his fingers glimmer under the sun.

Upon reaching the top, he admires the view all around him - beautiful, northernmost Scotland - in all of its savage wonder. So breathtaking, so stupefying that it almost doesn't seem like it belongs on this earth, he thinks.

Then he wants some sweets, so he stops thinking and begins the very long journey to his nearest local shop. He can't remember the last time he's been there. It's owned and run by a cailleach named Mrs. Andarsan; Lachlan enjoys talking to her, though it doesn’t happen too often.

He doesn't get to talk much, really. It's a very isolated place, is Scaw.

The sun is setting by the time he reaches his destination.

“Hello,” he chirps as the bell rings above the rickety old door. He sees Mrs. Andarson place whatever she's reading beneath the counter that she's sat behind.

“Och, Lockie, hallo sweetheart! I havenae seen ye in forever.” She smiles kindly and stands from her chair. “I was jus'about te close for the day, y'must have known. Shut the door behind ye, child, it's friggin' freezin’.”

“Sorry,” he walks over to the sweets shelf, feeling foolish for some reason. “I won't be long.”

“Ach take all the time ye like, it's wonderful to see ye. I was gettin worried, it's been a very long time, young man. What'll it be today? Refreshers? Irn Bru? Highland Toffee and Caramels?”

Lachlan laughs - she knows him well. “Yes, all of those things please. Plus...plus have you got any bacon left? I really fancy some.”

“Aye, I'll just go get it from the back - won't be a mo’.”

Lachlan grabs all of the sweets he wants, struggling to carry them on his way to the counter. He also picks up a copy of a week-old newspaper. Old news is one of the perks of remote living, he thinks. He can imagine what’s happening now in the world out there, safe in the knowledge that he is passive, unable to intervene. He wonders why he has thoughts like this, but then forgets as Mrs. Andarsan returns with a packet of smoked bacon along with a batch of fresh, crusty white bread.

“You'll need a nice slice o’this tae enjoy it at it's best. Plenty of butter ’n’all.”

“Thanks.” He smiles as he watches Mrs. Andarsan bag up the goods. When she's finished, she notes Lachlan's unkempt, undernourished appearance -a scruffy dark green hoodie paired with creased black jeans- and he burns under her concerned face.

“Lockie, darling,” she begins, “I know you don't like it when I ask ye this, but... ye parents…”

And he dreads the evasion. He _honestly_ doesn't know who or where his parents are. It's all fuzzy, but kind of doesn't matter to him anyway, so he doesn't worry, or even think about it. Well, not often. And as much as he likes the kind shopkeeper, he's not telling _anybody_ that he's an odd and seemingly indestructible sixteen-year-old boy who lives alone in a Scottish cave. That's just weird.

“They're at home, it's fine,” he gives a convincing smile too.

“Where exactly _is_ home for ye, laddie?”

“Just…y’know. Up the road.” The lie slips off his tongue as easy as the dozen times before that he can't quite remember. “Honest, I'm fine. You don't need to fuss. I just look a bit shabby 'cos I've been uh, doing some bits and pieces.” That part only feels like a half-truth, though.

“Okay, but if ye ever need tae talk about anything, ye know where I am.” Mrs. Andarsan's blue eyes have forgiving, familiar kindness in them that Lockie is thankful for.

“I know. Thank you.”

For a very brief moment as they stare at one another, he thinks she knows... everything - more than he ever would... but then the feeling passes.

“That'll be £4.90 please.”

She always grossly undercharges this strange, lovely boy. He never notices. Instead, he rummages around his pockets for any cash he can find. In all of his excitement to get to the shop, he'd not given money a second thought. Money _never_ seemed to matter. He just seemed to have it, but 'it' was apparently running low on this day -- only £3.51p in loose change, along with an old mint and some... black twine. Why _that’s_ in his pocket, he has no idea. Mrs. Andarson scoops it all up and places it back in his hands.

“Keep it, darlin’,” she smiles and reaches below the counter, giving him her own latest copy of the newspaper, “and take this with ye too. I know ye like tae read. A nature photographer made it all the way up here earlier on - was printed on this very mornin’. Rare treat for us, eh?”

“Thank you,” he replies, both gratefulness and guilt swilling around his belly.

“Don't mention it, Lockie. Watch how ye go. I hope tae see ye soon.”

As he swings the two hefty carrier bags around on the journey home, munching on a Refresher bar, the yellow tang sticking pleasantly sticking teeth together, he wonders what Mrs. Andarson's first name is. He'll ask her next time.

It starts to pour down with rain, then he forgets.

***

The newspaper is dated Monday 27th October, and the headline reads, 'UNIVERSE REBUILT AFTER THANOS: AVENGERS LEGACY.' For some reason it makes him feel uneasy. After scanning the front page for further detail, he folds it over, changing his mind about reading the whole article and instead tucks into a delicious bacon sandwich, cooked from the fire.

When he sleeps that night, he has the most vivid and familiar nightmares about terrible things. Murder, Thanos, a place called Asgard. Things he does not understand, but in his dream-state he is intricately involved with. It's not him, it _can’t_ be him, but it all feels so real...

He wakes up in floods of tears that will not cease for some hours yet, wishing that somebody was there to talk to him. To love him, maybe.

Noticing that the fire's now flickering out, he gets up and uses the newspaper for kindling, watching it burn through glassy eyes as the tears continue to streak down his face. Eventually, he sees the Asgardian God named Thor turn to ash in the flames.

The wind and rain howl from above, while thunder rumbles in the not-so-far distance.

 


	3. For Auld Lang Syne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki...or rather, _Lachlan_ , goes on a journey. He also struggles to cope with the emotional ups and downs of the festive season...  
> __________

Edinburgh. He's got absolutely no idea how it got into his head, but Lachlan just _has_ to go to Edinburgh for Hogmanay celebrations.

Actually, he does know... he just keeps forgetting. He'd read about it in another week-old newspaper that he'd gotten from Mrs. Andarson, dated 13th December. When he'd visited the shop, she'd chastised him for ' _disappearing for yet another month_ ' and then after her admonishment, she kindly asked what his plans for Christmas were.

A lie, of course, had been the only response from him -- it was to be _a family occasion at home, with all of the trimmings_.

She'd said that _her_ family were taking her on a Nordic tour this year; her little grandson was going to visit ‘Father Christmas’ in Lapland. Then she asked if Lockie and his family had ever been away from home for the holidays. He lied again, saying that they'd been to Edinburgh when he was younger. In reality, he couldn't remember _any_ prior Christmas time, nor has he ever even been to Scotland's capital city.

He found it so easy to lie to protect himself.

Though the whole conversation felt like it must have been a sign, because when he read the newspaper at home later that night, there it was. An exciting, in-depth article on how majestic Edinburgh is going to be for Hogmanay celebrations this year.

So the lie was to become a half-truth — he was going to leave his warm, comfortable home and journey into mystery.

Upon making the decision, he also fleetingly wondered where myths like ‘Santa Claus’ come from; if such saints or sinners are pure myth or fuelled from a grain of truth. Then he stopped thinking and burned his newspaper in the fire.

He burns every story he reads in the end, fanning the flames to keep himself warm.

Nevertheless, the following morning he actually _remembered_ that which he set out to do. Bundling up everything he could manage to carry —including a small stone that he keeps under his pillow, the origin of which he wasn't quite sure of— into one of his bedcovers that he'd habadashered into a makeshift rucksack, he set off for Edinburgh.

The journey is not an easy one. The Scottish Highlands are unforgiving at the best of times, but during the winter months they are harsher still. Lachlan is resilient and stubborn, however.

It takes him a few days of braving wind, rain and sleet, retreating to caverns within the surrounding mountainous nature when the weather is just too ravagey. He has to use his brain too - tricking various people into allowing him onto numerous ferries without a ticket, and deflecting prying questions from strangers at his haggard state of dress. He loses his map during the last leg of the journey - amazing that it hadn't blown away in gale force winds up until that point, really- but he perseveres on instinct alone.

He's practically blue by the time he reaches his destination, but it doesn't matter, because he made it.

And Edinburgh really is as beautiful as he'd hoped. Sure, there had been some amazing sights along the way - Aberdeen was very intriguing, for example, and he already lives in an _actual cave_ on the Shetland Islands, but there was an energy to the city that was simply addictive. So busy, so bustling, that in some ways he felt he could disappear here moreso than in the isolation of Scaw.

He was wrong.

***

Lachlan walks down Edinburgh’s main street, The Royal Mile, admiring its myriad shops and bars, seeking the royal residence of Holyroodhouse at the bottom of the road. He notices along the way from a passing conversation between two people that it's actually Christmas Eve - meaning it's taken him only five days to get here. He takes smug satisfaction in this fact, it makes him feel quite invincible. Sometimes he wonders if he is invincible. Living in a _cave_ can't be for the faint-hearted, after all, but then he remembers that it doesn't matter. So he forgets.

Upon reaching the gates of the part-time palace, he wraps his hands around the iron bars. It's closed.

The thought of royalty in general makes him feel peculiar, like there's something missing from his mind. It's okay though, he didn't want to venture inside anyway. Doesn't really know why he came here at all, so instead, he walks back to the shop he'd spotted on the Mile -- the one that had the delicious smell of fresh fudge emanating from its doors.

He tricks the friendly assistant into giving him two large slabs of the stuff, one vanilla and one chocolate with spiced orange-swirl, and he bundles them into the gold and green embroidered rucksack. He also manages to convince a young, black-haired woman coming out of a coffee shop, two cups of freshly-made Americano in her hands, that she really doesn't need two cups of the stuff when she's carrying so many bags. She takes pity on him, smiling knowingly, and hands him one.

“Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, _Lockie_. I hope it is a fruitful one for you.” She speaks sarcastically, eyes bright, then walks away. Her nametag read 'Leah' through her open coat. It doesn’t occur until afterwards to think of how she knew his name.

Then, he walks down to Holyrood Park, and makes his bed under the refuge of a particularly robust tree. He sips at the hot coffee appreciatively, admiring the view of twinkling lights in the distance. They remind him of home - whatever home actually _is_ to him.

On Christmas Day itself, the city seems much quieter. He walks the streets with curiosity, wondering with an open mind about what makes the occasion so special. He thinks at first it's because of all the presents and food he's read about, feasts and treats and materialism that is unsurpassed at any other time of year. But then, the festive season is a time to be spent with family, so they must make it somehow special too.

Family. He doesn't have one of those. He doesn't even have any friends.

Little Lockie is alone.

It hits him like a blow to the gut, like ice clawing at his skin. A truth so obvious, and yet he's chosen to ignore its implications up until this point. 

Why can't he remember anything? Why does he have nightmares that seem to burn his very soul? What happened to make him like this, stuck alone in a cave for a home with nothing really concrete, nothing tangible from his past? Did he do something bad, something _really_ bad, to deserve this?

It _does_ matter. He _does_ care, contrary to what he convinces himself.

Because while everybody else is at home enjoying their Christmas Day with love, laughter, joy and family, he is sat alone on a tatty old bench, in a place that doesn't feel like home.

Tears stream down his face, then. He sits in a heartbreakingly sad silence while the sun sets above in the evening sky. Eventually, when the sky's scattered with stars instead of sunshine, he stands up and looks up, finding no answers to any of the questions that burn.

Admitting defeat, and finally exhausted from everything— _everything_ , he walks to a grubby-looking side street where he curls up in a ball, continues to drown in misery. In fact, he cries himself into a fitful sleep that lasts for days, remaining unnoticed by the busy world around him.

New Year's Eve is upon him soon enough, and he remembers nothing much of this previous, most helpless of sorrows when he ventures out of the side street. Like he can _never_ remember, isn’t meant to. It doesn't really matter. None of that stuff matters. Instead, he's distractedly excited for the Hogmanay celebrations - the whole purpose of his journey.

He is not disappointed.

Fireworks are set off periodically, long before the final moments to midnight begin. The advertisement wasn’t kidding about Edinburgh being a fantastic, long-drawn-out way to celebrate a new year. Lockie watches the night sky as it burns with beautiful colour and shape, music playing in the background from a ceilidh band — the kind of songs that make anybody want to drink and dance, vibrations in their bones, joy in the soul.

Feeling bold, he even manages to obtain some mulled wine —plenty of it, in fact— charms working a delight in the revels of celebration and community spirit. The hot, spicy cinnamon and orange prickles at his nose while the liquid tingles down his throat. He does not recall ever having drunk alcohol before; the notion makes him giddy.

When the countdown proper begins — _one minute to go_ — he happily holds the hands of strangers, feeling the bustling energy all around of what’s to come. It feels wholly familiar, and yet like nothing he’s ever experienced. Overwhelming and electric.

In the midst of the revelling, Little Lockie makes a New Year’s Resolution to himself. He vows to remember things better, knowing that this is a night he is unlikely to forget.

How little he knows…


	4. A Norn Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Thor is drinking beer, hiding from his problems and recovering from The Infinity War when a startling discovery is thrust upon him…  
> __________  
> 

Thor Odinson sits on a tatty brown couch, alone in his current and temporary Midgardian residence. Avengers Tower is no more, having been all but obliterated during wartime. Even after everything that has transpired, Thor still likes New York though, so he has commandeered an abandoned and modest little apartment not far from the original location - one of the few fully-intact blocks in this part of the city, in fact. Rebuilding is slow, but steady enough with all things considered.  
  
To tell the truth, Thor cannot bring himself to be among what remains of Asgard, shunning his responsibility for as long as he can. Seeing _this_ world resiliently pick up the remaining pieces after Thanos's rage was finally brought to an end gives him a better feeling of hope. Asgard, he fears, has been through too much. It is too broken, too beyond his repair.  
When he was last there, he was of course begged by all who survived to stay. Odin, weakened once more, scorned him for abandoning his responsibility as Thor told his father that he could not be in Asgard at this time. His involvement with things resulted too often in destruction, he explained, but his father did not care. _Go_ , he said, _be as dead to me as my other son_.  
  
_Loki_ , Thor thinks. His brother that wasn't. Finally dead and gone, after all of the betrayal and hate and rage. It was no more than he deserved.  
Except that Thor didn't want him to be dead.  
He missed him.  
  
He knew it was wrong, but that Loki disappeared in battle during the war just _seemed_ wrong. It mattered not to Thor that Loki had turned coat eventually, fighting for the right cause in the end — it was too late for any noble gesture to amend the countless previous wrongs. Even Thor could not forgive some actions. He wanted to kill Loki for all that he'd done, would willingly make him suffer in cold blood if the opportunity were to be presented. Although it was too late. Though his body was never found, all agreed that this time it was certain… that even The God of Lies would not cower away from a battle so important, so chaotic and consuming and devastating. He must have been murdered.  
  
Yes, Loki had the ability to hurt Thor more than any other being across the worlds, across the universe. 

Yes, Thor still missed him.

Yes, Thor still wanted to murder him, were he not already dead. It was complicated.  
  
Silently berating himself for thinking of Loki on the Eve of a New Year, he shuns the wicked brother from his mind and chugs at his sixth beer. He's been drinking one every hour since noon, though he's stone cold sober of course. It is nowhere near strong enough to sate his mind or weaken his body and it does not pleasantly dull the senses like Asgardian mead can, but it will suffice for pleasing the tastebuds, and he is enjoying the celebratory symbolism of it.  
He flicks across the channels on his TV - a technological part of Midgardian culture which he has also grown quite fond of. The news is good for keeping track of his Earth friends —because Thor still refuses to have a phone— and he now finds himself laughing at the occasional 'situation comedy' too. Today though, Thor decides to leave the BBC World Service on in the background, suddenly feeling compelled to rise from his lazy position and look for something he has not gazed upon for quite some time, tucked away in a drawer in his bedroom. He'd kept it on his person since he'd visited the Norn Caves with Selvig all those years ago, finding it on the floor emitting a dull white glow of magic. He'd thought such objects a total myth for many years prior, but he knew what it was as soon as he laid eyes on it.  
  
A Norn Stone.  
  
Loki had told him all about the Norn Stones when they were growing up. He explained that they contained magicks of the highest form, and were impossibly rare. Their effects would vary wildly depending on the person, sometimes refusing to work at all, and what the stones would grant when they did accept the person would depend entirely on the desire of those seeking to use the power.  
  
Thor digs to the back of the drawer filled with useless Midgardian junk, and feels the cool slab of rock brush against his fingers. He pulls it out, noting that once again it is glowing as it had done the day he'd found it - brighter, in fact. It had remained very much _unglowing_ throughout the whole of the Infinity War, but Thor had kept it regardless, hoping that one day it would shine once more.  
  
He wonders what thoughts prompted him to retrieve the stone, and when he remembers what he was thinking about, he shoves it back into the drawer with ferocity.

  

 

***

  
A little later, Thor eyes the TV as he awaits opening his seventh beer, bottle opener in hand. He thinks about how he could drink all twelve in one go without feeling any effect, but reminds himself that that is not the point. The news reporter on the screen wears a huge, toothy grin, looking only slightly disappointed that he is stuck in a recording studio behind a desk while his colleagues are in the real world, revelling in festivities.  
  
_“The countdown is on here in GB, guys! Celebrations in London are wild, with a record number of people taking to the streets - numbers that haven't been since since darker times gone by.”_  
  
Thor smiles. Resilience.  
  
_“But it isn't just in London where we're seeing numbers like this - major cities all over the UK and Ireland are out in force to bring in the New Year with a bang. Over to our correspondent Emily Nightingale, who's in the midst of Hogmanay celebrations in Scotland…”_  
  
Scotland. Thor remembers Jane telling him about Scotland many years ago, before fate turned cruel. She told him of how it is steeped in myth and legend, how beautiful it is.  
  
_“Thanks, David, and hello from Edinburgh! As you can see from the crowd behind me, it is electric up here for Hogmanay this year - it’s 11:51pm and the crowds can barely wait for the clock to strike twelve, such is the antici-”_  
  
The voices become irrelevant, drowning into the background of Thor’s mind as notices a very young man among the crowd, goblet in hand, dancing like an idiot. He is the absolute image of Loki when they were growing up together. Thor shakes his head in disbelief, dismissing his own crazy thoughts.  
  
“It cannot be...” he asserts to himself.  
  
Then the boy looks directly into the camera, smiling, and Thor drops his unopened beer with shock. It bounces and foams all over the floor, but Thor doesn't notice because he is already clambering in the drawer of junk again and calling Mjolnir to his hand.  
His brother lives.


	5. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic weaves its way between brothers, for better or worse.  
> __________

It’s well past 3am before Lachlan feels tired enough to stop drinking and dancing in celebration of the New Year. As he wriggles his way out of the now-dispersed crowd and into a quieter, secluded spot, he notices a tall, blonde man glaring at him from a distance, as though he has been watching him all night. He’s lurking under the shade of a tree in the hilly sweep of castle gardens that are now empty. It is dark and dangerous, but Lachlan is feeling bold, so he acts on the aching twist in his stomach that would know more.

“You know, a picture would last longer,” he smiles, teetering between intimidation and flirtation. Being sixteen, he manages neither.

“I do not need such an image that is already seared onto my mind's eye,” the blonde man says, coldly.

“I like your fancy dress,” Lachlan laughs, ignoring the callous tone of the previous sentence he was admonished with and choosing to accept it as a compliment instead. He likes the red cape the man is wearing. It swishes around in the cold Scottish air. “Are you supposed to be a New Year’s Viking or something?”

The man grabs him by the neck and pushes him against the tree, and Little Lockie bristles with excitement.

“Do not play games with me.” Fierce blue eyes threaten as equal as the hands wrapped around his neck. “You know already who I am. And I ought to kill you right here, right now.”

He realises that the handsome and ridiculously strong man is not lying about the latter part. Excitement is replaced with fear and eyes fill up with tears.

He doesn't want to die.

“I-I don’t-“ he stutters, broken little puffs of pleading into the cold Edinburgh air.

“You have tricked me too many times, God of _Lies_ ,” Thor squeezes tighter, but relents a little when tears start falling down his brother's young, terrified face. It is too painful. “No...I will not allow it again…”

“Puh-please-” he chokes out, sobbing now, and the beseeching tone coming from such a young and fragile face tells Thor what he already suspects —he doesn’t know how this has happened, but he cannot do it—he _cannot_.

Thor lets go and watches his teenage tormentor fall to a heap on the ground, struggling to put breath back into rattling lungs.

Lachlan is frightened, but he doesn't run. Instead he looks up at his attacker with intrigue - and finds the same look on his face too.

“What is your name, child?”

“Lachlan," he smiles, happy that he is no longer being choked. “But uh, my friends sometimes call me Lockie for short.” This handsome man needn't know that he has no friends.

“ _Lachlan?_ ”

“Yes. Y'know, derivative of Norway? I'm Scottish though. Very Scottish, if the accent hadn't given it away. Y'know, before you started trying to strangle me.”

“You are not speaking in a Scottish accent, and you are not named Lachlan.” Thor sits opposite him, bitterness in his words as he rubs his own temples. “You are speaking in the Alltongue. And your real name is not Lachlan. It is Loki.”

Lachlan laughs wildly at the suggestion. “Don't be stupid! I'm not. What's an Alltongue?”

“I speak only the truth, I am almost certain of it,” Thor is careful not to finish with the word ‘brother.’ “Do you not remember who I am?”

“Should I?” Lachlan trusts this man for some insane reason, given that he almost just murdered him, but he certainly doesn't _know_ him.

“Loki, if this is a trick, I swear I will—”

“Why do you keep saying that?!” he stands up now, exasperated. He doesn't want to know more now, not any of it. It’s been such a long night. He just wants to go home. “Leave me alone, you weird viking--”

“ _Never,_ ” Thor growls.

“Then stop saying weird things to me,” he huffs, watching as the man stands up, towering above him in height and bulk. He hadn't noticed before just how big and obvious the contrast was between them. “God, you're really huge, aren't you?”

Blue eyes light up with hope. “What do you know of the gods?”

“Errr... It’s an expression? I know that there aren't any gods, because I'm not aged seven anymore,” and though the words come out easily from Lachlan’s mouth, they don’t sit quite right in his mind.

“Loki--"

" _Lachlan._ "

" _Loki_ , we are... well... we are something like what Midgard might proclaim to--why are you crying?”

“I.. oh. I dunno.” Lachlan places fingers to his own cheeks — indeed there are tears rolling down his face. “Must uh, must be the wine or something. I've never celebrated Hogmanay before. In fact, I've never really celebrated _anything_ before. It's a bit intense.”

“Aye.” Thor looks at him with pity, reminded of how fragile his brother was at this age. How this probably never changed, Loki probably just got better at hiding it.

“I don’t wanna be interrogated or anything… I’m sorry, I just. I just wanna go home.”

Thor nods in silent agreement. “And where is home for you?”

Lachlan thinks. “I don't really know that I have one,” he says, wearing a look of confusion that breaks Thor's heart. “For now, I guess it's a tree down in Holyrood Park.”

“Very well,” Thor scoops him up in his arms, noting how Loki does not retaliate. In fact, he clings as though he is starving for the touch of another. “I will carry you there. Though you will have to direct me.”

As they walk through the twists, turns and hills of Edinburgh, Thor feels something hopeful in his heart.

It is dangerous.

“We're here.”

Thor places him down and covers him with a blanket. “Rest well, Loki. I will have more questions for you in the morning.”

“…Lachlan…” he mutters in return, already half-asleep.

Thor watches the young man dutifully as he tosses, turns, snores and mumbles incoherent incantations.

If there was any before, there is no doubt in Thor's mind whatsoever now. He _knows_ his brother lives. And for better or worse still, Thor knows with all of his heart that he  _wants_ him to live.

***

It is a brand new year, but as usual, Loki sleeps non-peacefully through the same fitful memories never remembered when he awakes. This time though, it's a tiny bit different. As he sits up and rubs his eyes, yawning and stretching, he is watched.

Loki.

 _Loki_.

“Ohmygod!” he yells, glaring across at the blue eyes that still look as electric and fierce beneath the cold, grey Edinburgh clouds as they did under the moonlight last night. “Loki... My-my name _is_ Loki.”

“You remember?”

“Yes. You said it was Loki, not Lachlan... And you are correct.”

“Did you dream about it?”

“Yes, yes I think so-”

Thor smiles a huge grin at this progress. “What else did you dream about?”

“My dreams... they were bad. Magical. Yet so _real_. They always are. And yet, I don't remember anything properly,' Loki breaks off and his voice wavers as eyes fill up again, part frustration, part fear. “The things that happen in them…that I—they _can't_ be—”

Thor holds him tight as he begins to sob. It is heartbreaking to witness his brother in the fragility of youth once more. He strokes inky black hair and inhales the familiar scent, but it is of little comfort to Thor himself. In fact, it provides the opposite emotions intended. It works for Loki though, and that is what’s important. After Loki has calmed down a little, Thor speaks gently.

“Do you remember what _my_ name is?”

“You-you didn't even tell me that,” Loki twists his lips, embarrassed by everything and shuffling into his own space. “I’m far too trusting after a few glasses of wine, aren't I?”

“Thor," he replies after a moment of silence, disappointed - he thought Loki may have remembered more. “My name is Thor. Can you think of anything else from your dreams, Loki?”

“What? Nah, there’s nothing else to remember,” Loki laughs dismissively, changing the subject as he ponders the word _Thor_ and what it could mean. “Besides, I don’t function well on an empty stomach. It’s a new year, and I’m sore-headed and hungry for bacon…”

Loki stands up enthusiastically, but it's clear he is feeling exhausted. Thor joins him in standing, looking every inch the proud warrior in full battle attire, Mjolnir at his side. “We will eat soon enough, but I would have you remember more things before we do so.” Thor worries that the longer time left between dream state and reality, the less Loki will be able to recite.

Loki looks him up and down, not listening to a word. The man towering into the sky is simply perfect — _breathtakingly_ beautiful. Faultlessly chiselled in appearance, even more radiant in daylight than in the shadows of night. How has Loki only just noticed? He swallows down his awe and bats his eyelashes instead. “Heh, I forgot you were in fancy dress,” he walks over to Thor, feeling suddenly daring, though still only managing to maintain the appearance an incredibly naïve fool. “Very dashing, you are.”

He places his hand onto Thor’s chest.

Thor's face flushes. "You would not speak to me in such a way if you remembered more." He swipes Loki's hand as it crawls upwards and towards his face with reverence. “You are a _child_.”

“No I'm not-” Loki whines, offended, “I live alone in a cave and I'm _very_ self-sufficient and mature for my age, thank you very much.”

“A cave? Where is this cave?”

“I…I’ve forgotten.” Loki thinks hard, but remembers nothing except the twinkle of fairy lights. “I’m always forgetting stuff. It's like...somebody doesn't want me to remember. Like I'm being protected from something…” A thought ignites in his mind, and he is worried by it. “Why were you watching me, Thor?”

“I saw you on TV,” he explains, honestly. He hesitates for a moment, then reaches into a pocket within his armour and pulls out the Norn Stone to show it to Loki. “And at the same time, this object started glowing again, calling to me. I know that probably makes no sense to you, but I knew I had to come here.”

Loki's mouth falls wide open at sight of the stone, but he says nothing. Instead, he rummages through his pittance of rucksack possessions —while Thor silently notes that the rich gold and green fabric is a rare and ornate one of Asgardian origin— and retrieves the rock he brought with him, both of them gasping in awe when Loki pulls it from the rucksack, glowing also.

Loki holds it in his hand with care, tracing it with astonished fingers. “It's magic, a _trick_ …” he says, voice laced with wonder.

“’Tis a Norn Stone, Loki,” Thor says, kneeling beside him. He knows it’s no coincidence. “And 'tis most definitely _not_ a trick.” He touches Loki’s arm. “Can you not feel it in your bones?”

“Aye…” Loki admits. It is magic. And it is _real_. He doesn’t understand it, but he can feel it.

“Where did you find this?” Thor implores, though with a thankful voice.

Loki looks at him blankly. “I dunno. It’s just…I’ve always had it. It felt like it mattered to me. Didn’t know it could glow, though. And I never knew that it was magic.”

Thor says nothing, but he smiles knowingly, and then places his stone on the grass between them. Loki copies him.

“Loki, take my hands,” Thor stretches his arms out. “I do not know the Oldtongue needed to unleash the full power required, but I hope that our forces combined will be enough. You need to remember who you are.”

Before Loki places his hands atop Thor's, he hesitates. “Wh-what do I do? How will I _know_?”

“It is simple -- simply think of what you want to know, alongside what it is you desire,” Thor looks assured and yet concerned too. “And all will be fine. Though no matter what has happened or what will come to pass, please know this. I have missed you, Loki. So much. I will not give up on you again.”

Loki smiles as his fingers interlock with Thor's.

Though he should be, he is not afraid. Not even when the earth beneath them rumbles and falls apart and they descend into chaos and magic and slices of knowledge and suddenly _he_ knows the Oldtongue needed—he _remembers_ … And though everything is a haze, he is Loki and Thor is his brother —no, his _not-brother_ — and there are other universes as well as second chances and war and evil and good and infinity and—

He has a second chance to rewrite his story.


	6. The Agent Observes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate-universe Loki watches intently as events unfold…  
> _________

Other-Loki is still sporting his tatty trousers and spiky hair, wandering around The Nothing. He kinda likes its plain, blank canvas serenity — after all, it offers plenty of time to think, with no distractions. And we all know that is when the best stories are woven…

Well he does have one distraction, actually, by the name of Verity Willis. His friend. His _best_ friend. Y’know, purple hair, sassy attitude, able to detect any kind of lie? The one who he killed to put in a swirling blue vortex around his wrist? Yeah, that one.

_Let it be known that for all the wonderful Lokis existing across all universes, none of them are likely to be particularly A-Grade at the whole ‘friendship’ thing._

Anyway. He reaches into his own mind —because he’s powerful enough to be able to ace that sort of sorcery thing while cavorting in The Nothing— and watches as little Loki of Earth-199999 learns juicy slices of the monster he used to be.

It annoys this Loki, because on the day he’d offered that desperate, hopeless, other-universe-version of himself a way out, he _had_ been true to his word. He is The God of Stories now, a new leaf turned, not an evil trickster intent on only wickedness. Well, he still hopes to enjoy a good dose of mischief every so often, and he supposes that some stories are just too tempting not to smatter with a little dose of untruth…

But yeah. So Loki’s memory had been wiped a _lot_ — what? He was _messed up_. And that’s saying something, coming from this Loki. To turn over a new leaf, sometimes you have to let go of the past a little bit extremely, but it’s worth the memory loss.

And now Thor, big lovely handsome Thor, has gone and fucked it all up.

Though thinking back to the situation in hand, he is not surprised that the blonde Adonis managed to shatter the walls of the illusion. _His_ Thor was certainly good at it, so why should this other one be any different?

Yes yes, bitter and resentful Loki from Earth-199999 _definitely_ needed more time to understand himself better and keep away from the events of his past, smug Loki: Ex Agent of Asgard thinks. His story was too filled with a very specific and toxic mix of love and hate for his brother, right from the very start. A relatable predicament, but different for this tortured Loki in a few key ways, because he _had_ a choice, all those years ago, to make Asgard proud — and he chose to lie and cheat wreak evil across a whole nation instead. Even with that in mind, _this_ Thor showed much compassion, Other-Loki jealously thinks. This Thor was always _way_ more forgiving. And this Thor had not become unworthy, unlike _his_ Thor.

Life was a bit of a bitch, really.

“Loki, what the hell are you doing?” Verity snaps him from his descending swirl of thoughts, just like a good friend always should. It really is nice to have a BFF, even if he had to turn her into a ghost so that she survived the end of their universe.

“I’m thinking,” Other-Loki replies, winking and flashing his signature grin.

“You think too much,” Verity barbs, shaking her head. “Is it about that other Loki you found?”

“How ever did you guess?”

“Because you’re a narcissist, maybe?” she laughs and shakes her head as Other-Loki pulls a stupid face. “How are things going for him?”

“I-I dunno. He’s just found out who he really is. Well, at least a _bit_. Thor's involved with it. I think it’s gonna go bad. Maybe I should intervene.”

She raises her eyebrow in reply. “Do you really think that’s wise? I mean, no offence, but that Loki seemed like a _total_ lost cause.”

“He had nobody, Verity,” Other-Loki’s face suddenly goes all serious, voice quiet and enriched with consideration. “It’s not a nice way to be.”

Verity is silent in her acceptance of the compliment there, and how important she is; how their friendship changed him for the better. She smiles.

“Okay, but give him a little credit. He’s got Thor now, right? And he’s still _Loki_ — you couldn’t have kept him from himself forever. He’s too clever.”

Loki smiles too, but sadly. “Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about…”


	7. Good Morning, Mr. Magpie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor brings Loki to New York.  
> __________

New York City is staggering. Loki remembers it a little, but it’s hazy; he was overridden by the power of the sceptre during his visitations of the vicinity, after all. But even with that in mind — _quite literally_ — the details would still be sketchy. A lot of his memories are this way, though there are some that hit him on random occasions like a stab to the heart, crystal clarity. When this happens, he crushes the memories down, overwhelmed by the way they make him feel.

Luckily, no such thing happens as they walk through the streets of Manhattan. There is crap everywhere, people everywhere, and little time to dwell on emotions when trying to keep up with Thor’s quick-footed pace. Loki had thought Edinburgh was all hustle and bustle, but even that impressive city fails to live up to the insatiability of the maze of blocks they’re currently navigating.

It's clear from the state of their surroundings that New York suffered a great deal through the war. Unsurprising for such a prominent location, but Loki finds it poignant nonetheless. He knows not everything about himself yet, but destruction and its inevitable accompanying death-count on this level is not something he wishes to think about. He had not witnessed much wretchedness at all back in Scotland, before he was changed, and now he wonders whether that was through not seeking it, or simply from ignoring it. Perhaps there is little difference between both.

Before he gets too lost within that line of thought, Loki remembers the journey from Scotland via Mjolnir instead. After using the Norn Stones, they had awoken from unconsciousness right under the same very tree in Edinburgh, surroundings apparently undamaged. Of course, once they knew the magic had worked, feeling it in their very bones, Thor ordered Loki to collect his bag and hold on tight, because there were things to be done elsewhere. Within a brief moment, they blasted through the sky at skin-peeling speeds; Loki held tight by Thor’s possessive grip. It was an overwhelming experience — Loki remembers nothing of travelling with Mjolnir before, if he did it at all, and he notes what a truly astounding weapon the hammer is. Not simply weapon, but _magic_. And his beautiful brother wields it so well… Wait, his _not_ -brother…

As they walk past a hotdog van and a passerby bumps right into a pensive Loki, accidentally smearing mustard and ketchup across his already bedraggled green hoodie, he rolls his eyes and pokes Thor in the arm.

“Remind me again why you brought me to this dump instead of Asgard?” he asks petulantly. “Y’know, _our home_.” Asgard is a truly beautiful place, and there is also the added benefit that he is slightly less likely to be stained with condiments whilst walking down the streets there. Thor stops in his tracks and turns to face his brother.

“Loki, you do not remember?”

“Remember what?"

Thor does not respond immediately. Instead, he places his hand on Loki’s neck. It makes his skin prickle, something familiar tingling under his skin. “It is better that you do not remember everything just yet, I think.”

Loki’s voice feels weak in his mouth. “Is it destroyed?”

“All you need to know right now is that this is the best place we can be,” Thor smiles with a similar weakness. Loki blinks, eyes wide as he stares at impossible blue.

“Very well.”

When they get inside Thor’s apartment, Loki turns his nose up in derision. “You live _here_?” he asks, dumbfounded. The entire place is about a quarter of the size of Loki’s chambers in the citadel — and Loki’s chambers are small and rather modest in comparison to most Asgardian royalty, so his mind recalls—

“Yes, Loki. I live _here,_ ” Thor responds with a hint of annoyance blossoming. “’Tis more than adequate, especially considering the state New York is presently in.” Loki turns his nose up further as he notes a dirty, lonesome looking pair of trousers scrunched into a corner of the room, an abundance of unwashed plates piled up in the sink, and that musty kind of smell which only comes from an area with unopened windows.

“That matters not. This place is filthy, small, and beneath you, brother.”

“Coming from somebody who lives in a cave,” Thor bites back with a smirk.

“Ah yes, but you forget that one day, _you_ are to be a mighty k—oh.” The memory almost floors Loki. After freezing on the spot for a long moment, he bursts into tears at remembering how much he coveted the throne that belonged his brother. How far he went, the things he did to Thor. “I’m sorry-I’m, I’m so-suh-sorry—” He chokes in-between breaths, trembling with emotion and pushing all that he can down. What’s worse is Loki knows that the memories coming back are a mere scratch of the surface.

“Be calm, it’s alright. I know, I know,” Thor soothes, holding his still-young brother close, stroking his hair. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay. It has been a troubling day for you, brother reborn. Let it all out.”

Loki quite literally cries himself dry in Thor’s arms; they both lose track of time. When he’s calmed and subsequently exhausted himself to stillness, Thor thinks him asleep, so puts Loki into bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead before closing the bedroom door. Loki inhales the comforting smell of the bedsheets, unsettled with everything. Thor returns mere moments later, climbing in next to Loki and letting out a huge sigh. After a while, Loki allows himself to peak at Thor through a slither of eye, and finds his face to be streaked with silent tears that reflect the dim city glow of sunset.

***

They both sleep until late into the following afternoon. It is Loki who awakens first, but Thor who breaks the silence, gently nudging Loki to ask if he would like some grilled breakfast meats.

“Breakfast?” he scoffs. “ _Finally_. Though it’s more like supper time now, and two days after my initial request.”

Thor smiles and gets out of bed. As he wanders to the kitchen, Loki watches how his Midgardian clothes of preference—a navy blue cotton t-shirt and grey lounge pants that stop at the knee— cling to well-formed muscles in a most pleasing way.

He assumes the inappropriate twinges of lust are to be blamed on having to endure a teenage form, so he does not feel guilty for them.

After ‘breakfast’ is prepared and eaten, Thor switches his computer on to check his emails, while Loki scoffs in disparagement at his use of Midgardian technology.

“You _do_ know you are an Asgardian god, right?”

Thor smiles, ignoring the sneering tone in his brother’s young voice. “I do not have a cellular device, but I must succumb to _some_ of this world’s charms, Loki.”

Thor has 24 unread messages; he deletes the 23 that are trying to tempt him to purchase things he does not require, and opens the only one of note:

YOU ARE NEEDED. INTEL IN PERSON ONLY. MEET SAME PLACE AND TIME AS USUAL.

“Tomorrow afternoon, I have to go out…” Thor says to Loki, who is now hovering over his shoulder with reluctant interest at Thor’s change in expression. “You must come with me.”

“You _can_ leave me here alone, y’know. I’m not going to summon a Chitauri Army or anything.” Thor glances disapprovingly at Loki’s distasteful comment, thinking that his little brother would not be so flippant if he truly remembered everything. “What, too soon for jokes?”

“You cannot stay here alone.”

“You do not trust me,” he looks down at Thor with quiet derision.

“No, you misunderstand,” Thor replies, before adding sadly, “I simply do not want to lose you. Not again. You being left alone is therefore not an option.”

The pain in his brother’s eyes is enough to convince Loki to hold his true thoughts. “Where do you need to go?”

“I need to speak with…” Thor hesitates, “with my fellow Avengers. What pittance remains of them.”

Loki’s face drops. He may be young, but he is no fool. He may not remember everything, but he remembers enough. “You cannot, Thor— you simply _cannot_ expect me to be safe in their presence — after the things I have done, they will want my blood surely.”

“They will not, not when I explain…”

Loki loses his cool, whining like a petulant, upset child. “You— _no_. No no no! I can’t even remember exactly _what_ , but, but—uuuugh!” he storms out of the small room, flustered and frowning, “I’m going to bed.”

“But you have only just arisen, brother…” Thor calls after him, but when he is then ignored he wonders what to do of the predicament. Loki does have a point.

After some thought, he clicks on his Deleted Mail folder.

***

Loki sulks for an inordinate amount of time in Thor’s bedroom, willing his brother to come in and see if everything’s okay. He doesn’t. But at least Loki realises during this time that he is pretty fantastic at smouldering disdain, even if it is of no comfort to him as he tosses and turns over Thor’s bed.

The bed smells of his brother, and Loki wonders if it is wrong to enjoy the scent of it so much.

Thor does not come into the room at all that night, either — he must have chosen the couch instead. This makes Loki even more annoyed, because he’s acting equally as stubborn.

It is their first fight with him in this body. He doesn’t like how it feels, it itches at his bones.

Wishing something else other than smouldering disdain to consume his mind, Loki remembers how Thor carried him in strong, protective arms when they met on New Year’s Eve. It is with this thought of warmth and safety that he eventually falls into rest, sleeping right through until noon.

 _Typical teenager_ , Thor thinks as Loki wanders into the kitchen, dishevelled in his scruffy clothes and demanding a plate of the breakfast meats Thor has freshly prepared in the hope to rouse him from slumber and ill mood.

Loki snatches the plate from him and sits at the small table, wolfing down the assortment of food with begrudged enthusiasm. Thor joins him.

“Loki,” he begins, mouth full of food. “There are a few things you must take into consideration.”

Loki does not look up from his plate, but acknowledges his brother once he has swallowed another particularly hearty bite. “Okay, I shall consider away.”

“I want you to know first that I am truly sorry for our row yesterday. I should not have left you alone last night either, but I thought you irrational, and therefore I felt it unwise to grant you with my equally irrational company.”

“Pahh.” Loki snorts as he continues to focus on a particularly unruly piece of bacon. Thor continues.

“I am also sorry for that too. I am your elder, and I should not have sulked so. But I believe I have come up with a solution to our predicament. Before I speak of it, you must know a few other things,” Loki looks up when he hears the shaky emotion at the tail end of Thor’s sentence; it is he now who looks down to his plate of food. “When…when you guided the Chitauri attack on New York a few years ago. I know not what you remember, but you must understand that it was a difficult time for all of us involved, even though we have all been through so much more since. Mostly bad, especially between you and I. I do not want you to remember every detail, nor do I really wish you to tell lies to any Midgardians, but I fear for your safety otherwise…”

Thor’s gaze now burns into his brother. Loki reads between the lines, drops his fork and runs back to the bedroom in a mini-sulk. This time, Thor follows him.

“Brother, please speak to me.”

“I can’t do glamours, Thor. I can’t do _any_ magic — not even the snippets that I can by some miracle actually remember. This young body, it’s too weak. And my mind cannot recall all that it needs.” As the truth comes out of Loki’s mouth, he hates the way it feels on his tongue. He knows his seidr is intrinsic to his very being. “Your friends, they will see me the second I walk through the door. Clear as day.” He continues, trying to be casual and brave for his brother. “But…but though that will bring harm upon me, if you think it’s the right thing to do, then so be it.”

“Nay, Loki. You misunderstand again,” Thor speaks kindly, but with a firm tone. “I will allow no such thing. You will have to conceal your identity for a while yet using other means necessary, and for now this will have to suffice.” He hands Loki a sealed package.

Loki raises a curious eyebrow and opens it with care. He peers inside before fully pulling the items out; a hooded jumper just like the tatty green one he is currently wearing —except in crimson red— along with a pair of dark blue jeans, and black sneakers that go by the name of ‘Converse’. Loki runs his fingers across the garments, placing them on the bed neatly.

“Clothes, in _your_ colours?” he says sarcastically, concealing the warmth in his heart that Thor is doing his stupid utmost to protect him. “You must think Midgardians as gullible as yourself, brother.”

Thor does not take the bait. Instead, he smiles, happy that his brother is cajoling him.

“I purchased them last night from a place called The Amazon Prime. ’Tis most convenient.” He’s very proud of his ever-developing Midgardian knowledge. “Go on, try them on.”

Loki immediately begins to undress at the prompt; Thor appears about to move from his seated position on the bed, but then pauses. He watches as Loki’s scruffy jeans gently thud to the ground, revealing his boxer shorts and bare legs. He continues to watch as Loki steps out of them while wriggling his green hoodie over his shoulders, exposing his pale, thin torso.

Thor clears his throat. “I also purchased some other garments for you.” Loki roots into a separate package that Thor presents to him from the floor. He retrieves some black underwear and socks and places them neatly on the bed too. Thor clears his throat again, “I will get you any further new items as you wish, simply let me know what you would like.”

“You are most gracious,” Loki smiles at his brother’s kindness, thoughtlessly stretching the elastic of his existing underwear with nimble fingers, ready to try on the new clothing. He notices that Thor’s eyes widen as he does so. He suddenly feels extremely self-conscious, but he doesn’t falter. In fact, Loki stretches the fabric further, studying Thor’s expression.

Thor clears his throat before his eyes snap up to meet Loki’s. “Perhaps you would like me to leave while you—uh, or perhaps you would like to go to the bathroom and wash before you—”

“Are you trying to tell me that I smell unpleasant, Thor?” Loki bites into the air, unsure if he is still feeling self-conscious, or goading.

“What— _of course not—_ ”

“Then I will bathe later. First, I will try out your offerings, brother.” He pulls his underwear down in one swoop, slightly worried about the arousal that is just starting to pool in his belly. Thor turns his head away in a flash, a crimson flush creeping up his face.

Loki pulls up the fresh boxer shorts and also puts on a new pair of socks, admiring the jeans for a while while still semi-nude, prolonging the time it takes. He can sense that Thor is itching—no— _burning_ to look again, but he does not, not until Loki is fully dressed. Thor smiles then, but Loki is unsatisfied and wishes to assess himself.

He walks toward the wall, where he looks in the mirror intently. The red hoodie makes his face look even more pale, contrasting starkly with slightly untamed black hair, though his eyes look less blue-green than usual and much more green-blue. _Perhaps this is why Thor’s eyes are so fierce_ , he thinks, already knowing that it isn’t.

Nevertheless, Loki is not convinced with the disguise.

“I look too much like myself still,” he says, somewhat deflated. “This is no trick.”

“Aye, but you are so much younger than any of these people have ever known you to be,” Thor says, with a mist in his eyes. “It is quite impossible-seeming. They will not suspect.”

“We are practically immortal, Thor. To Midgardians, _that_ is probably a tad more impossible. Me reversing in age is therefore a notion unlikely to phase them. This will not suffice.”

“What else would you have us do?” Thunder creeps into Thor’s voice, and Loki thinks he quite likes the passion his retorts have goaded. He smiles at Thor through the mirror and ruffles his hair so that it covers a sizeable portion of his forehead and cheekbones.

“Improvise further, of course,” he says, expression impish, “and make some mischief. Apparently, I was quite good at it when we were kids. So some ape tells me.”

Thor smiles again and joins him near the mirror. He hovers behind, as if desperate to touch as Loki primps and preens. It does not go unnoticed; Loki feels quite prized.

“Also, while I’m playing ‘dress up,’ do you happen to have any kohl to line my eyes with?” he asks, mock-coyly.

Silently, Loki wonders what wicked beast Thor may have unwittingly unleashed, and whether the worse of it lies within Loki, or within Thor. He feels a strong hand touch his back while electric blue eyes pierce his reflection. There is a delicious, terrifying moment of silence at the contact, where Loki feels as though he is undressed all over again by his brother’s gaze…

Then, the moment is lost. Thor’s attention is broken by a ‘rawk’ coming from the window. There sits a magpie, pecking on a pane of glass. Loki looks at Thor though the mirror as he smiles at it, annoyed that such an insignificant animal could detract from what was happening between them.

“Curious creature, this bird.” Thor says, opening the window and pulling some birdseed from the chest of drawers placed below. The magpie stays on the outside part of the window ledge, but pecks forward and munches the food from Thor’s palm. “I do like its colours. Along with it’s brazen personality.”

Loki raises his eyebrow and tries to remember why a magpie’s presence feels so jarring in his mind.


	8. Deception Among Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a mysterious new threat to Midgard. Thor must help. Loki must be disguised.  
> __________

“Luke?” Loki scoffs, repeating the proffered name as they walk down the bustling street. “Luke.  _Luke_.” 

“Yes.” Thor nods. Loki huffs.

“Don’t you think it just seems a little like ‘Loki’?”

Thor nods again. “Well that is the very point — to cover my tracks in the case that my tongue conjures up an ‘L’ before I realise which company I am present in.”

“Hmmm.”

“And don’t forget to not say a word,” Thor chides, “your silvertongue will betray you in an instant.”

“Have I told you a single lie in these past few days, Thor?” Loki bristles, wondering why the word _silvertongue_ can get him so emotional.

“I-I mean your voice _itself_ , Loki,” Thor says, ignoring the question that he wishes not to think about. “Though a little higher-pitched than what they are attuned to —due to your young body— it is still rich and distinctive as it ever was.”

“I can do a fantastic American accent though, surely?” Loki asks, doing a fantastic American accent. Thor laughs at its uncanniness to Steve Rogers, but then he stops laughing and grabs Loki’s hand, all serious.

“Please, brother. I love our jests, but I have genuine worry for your safety here. You are to follow my lead, and you are not to speak.”

Loki wants to ask Thor that if he _really_ feared for his safety, why did they have to come to New York when Loki was perfectly safe and hidden from danger in Scotland, but then he worries that Thor will send him back there alone. He does not wish to be alone any longer.

“Okay, I will follow your lead.”

“Good. We will arrive soon.” Thor stops walking and looks at Loki sweetly. He goes to speak, but then seems to change his thought. “And you do look well-disguised enough. The eyeliner, the hair and clothes… it is quite amazing. No intricate glamour, my brother, but they make you seem different enough.”

“Way to pay me a compliment,” Loki scoffs. Thor ruffles his hair further over his face and pulls his hood up, pulling the cords snug and then wrapping his hands affectionately around Loki’s neck, thumb at his chin.

“Oh silence yourself, doe-eye.” The touch lingers for a second too long, and Loki gets the same feeling in the pit of his stomach as he did when he’d undressed in front of Thor the day before. He wonders if it will go away, if he wants it to. _How_ he wants it to. “We are only one block away now. Are you ready?”

“I am always ready.”

***

“My friends, this is Luke. I found him without a home and without a family. He is very good at listening and helping me keep my living quarters tidy.” Thor declares to the room as they eye little Loki with unsure eyes. “That, and he is most excellent at making beverages. I thought he would be of much great use with us here today.” Loki scowls at this. He did not sign up to be a drinksmaid.

The Avengers don’t outright suspect, but they are wary of Thor’s quiet, suspicious-looking young sidekick. As Thor deflects comments like _‘He looks um, familiar’_ and ‘ _Are you sure we haven’t met him before?’_ while wholeheartedly ignoring whispers such as ‘ _Does that count as Daddy Issues?_ ’, Loki sits on the sofa, trying his best _not_ to do anything Loki. He grits his teeth in silence and ignores some of the vaguely familiar faces he sees, not wanting to know exactly how well _they_ truly know _him_.

They manage a convincing enough act though — after all, why would anybody not place trust in Thor?— so pretty soon the various drinks orders are rolling in and the business is gotten down to.

Loki swirls a spoon around a cup of heavily-sugared white coffee with disdain. He is in the kitchenette, out of earshot, out of the loop. But he is not mere Midgardian, so he can hear perfectly clear the conversation happening in the next room, even if it is whispered. Frankly, he thinks the gang of vagabonded mutants should know better. He could be anybody. One of the fools speaks.

“The threat. We know a few things. Firstly, it’s a dead cert that nothing will happen until the actual anniversary day itself. Y’know, one year since the end of the war… Anyway. That gives us plenty of time to figure this out - a whole three weeks. There are no names yet, and none of the intel is concrete enough to move drastically with it, but we believe they have had access to Doctor Strange’s… specific ideas and methods from the research he’d carried out prior to the War. Here, take a look at this…”

 _Doctor Strange, pah._ Loki thinks. What a dumb, familiar name. Then Thor starts to speak -typically loud, of course- and Loki’s ears prickle with interest.

“So, we could really benefit from somebody expertly skilled in magic to assist?”

No, no, no. Thor cannot—he _will not_ reveal Loki—

“Exactly. And we have a few contacts in mind to ask for help, as well as present company here. Also, we uh… actually wanted to rule out the likelihood of it um…uh—” A female voice cuts through the bullshit.

“Thor, we need to rule out the likelihood of the perp being your brother.”

Loki drops the cup from his hand, it ricochets noisily off the hard floor and steaming hot Americano splatters all over the white tiles.

“LO-UKE!” Thor shouts from the other room, “Are you okay?”

Loki pretends not to hear him, as responding would only make Thor angrier once he realises his mistake. “Damn,” he says quietly instead as he drops to his knees to pick up the shards from the floor. Seconds later, Thor comes flying in, panicked.

“I heard a crash—oh.”

“ _Thought he was ‘an excellent beverage maker’…”_ Somebody retorts in the background as Thor stands frozen in the doorway.

“Here, let me help,” Thor says sheepishly, closing the door behind him as rage bursts through Loki’s face, “you do not have to worry about anything.”

Loki and Thor mouth to each other,

_“If you tell them about me, I swear I will—“_

_“Save your threats, for I will do no such thing. Trust me.”_

_“Okay.”_

As Loki puts the last of the ceramic shards in the bin, he vaguely recalls a strange version of himself uttering those same two words.

“Loki is not the perpetrator,” Thor says, having gone back into the other room. “Of that, I can assure you.”

“But _how_ sure can you really be when it comes to Loki?”

“I am certain,” Thor growls, “it is not he.” Then his voice softens a little, and as Loki continues to earwig and mop up the remnants of dark liquid with paper towels, he smiles. “For one — Loki was always clever with his schemes, and this threat is far too straightforward in its simplicity.”

“Straightforward? Thor, they’re planning on turning what population remains of America into bumbling, droned minions. Don’t you think that sounds a little bit—”

“Please!” Thor roars, managing to startle even Loki. “Trust me when I tell you that this criminal is not my brother.”

“Yeah, give him a break,” an arrogant male voice chirps, “we all know that that turncoat crumbled during the war itself. He’s _long_ dead by now.”

“And if he is dead, he died with honour, _alone_ , and if he is alive then he lives with honour, _alone_. Not within schemes such as this. We will say nothing further about him today.” Thor commands, and the room complies.

As if on cue, Loki brings in the first tray’s worth of finished beverages. For this, he is thanked with varying levels of pity and condescension. It makes him bubble inside with a resentment that feels all too familiar.

He cannot wait for this to be over.

***

That night, the pair lie in bed together, the air thick with silence and words too afraid to be spoken. Memories threaten them both, guilt and despair clawing and scratching at the surface.

Thor glares at Loki as though he is made of a precious, dangerous substance. Eventually, he goes to place a hand on Loki’s arm, but then refrains, sighing instead.

“Do you think me made of poison?” Loki’s words bite through the air, the preceding silence making it all the more bitter. Thor continues to glare.

“I think you both incredible and impossible, Loki,” Thor says, holding his hand out in mid-air as some sort of offering. “And I am sorry for what you have been put through today.”

Loki will not take his hand. “You are unsure if I am the innocent boy you wish me to be.” He attempts to hide his disappointed tone, but finds he cannot. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I wish you to be no such thing.” Thor’s hand touches Loki’s face now, all gentle and reverent and Loki thinks that the blue gaze before him could burn through absolutely anything, the fingers caressing his face could sear his very soul. Perhaps they already have.

“Then what do you wish me to be?”

But Thor does not answer Loki’s question with words. Instead, he pulls him close and kisses him on the forehead, and then on the lips, chaste but firm and for just long enough to make Loki’s heart pound in his ribcage and lungs gasp for breath as they part mouths and Thor says, “Sleep, brother, before we both regret this day further.”

So he does.


	9. Hela Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is offered a chance to partake in corruption, and briefly reminded of his dark past.  
> __________

It has been two days since Loki and Thor met with the Avengers. The time’s passed uncomfortably, and they have revisited the headquarters twice since.

As he sleeps, Loki finds himself pulled from dreams into a nightmare that feels terribly real.

He is in Hel. He has been summoned here by Hela, who he knows is definitely the Keeper of Hel, and also possibly some kind of relative, but probably not; because even Asgard has its Folklore.

Hela stands formidable and proud, face encased in a very ornate and intricate, bejewelled black mask that leaves only her mouth and pale jawline on display. She wears a green and black outfit that covers her body entirely, sweeping along the floor when she moves from her chosen elegant pose, which isn’t often. She is quite terrifying.

“ _Loki_ of Asgard,” Hela speaks regally, voice devoid of emotion as she assesses Loki’s appearance. He is wearing only a pair of red lounge pants that are Thor’s, tied tightly across his hips and clearly miles too big for his not-yet-full-grown body. “You look different since last we spoke,” she adds, wryly. As if it wasn’t already obvious. “So fresh and youthful.”

“Why am I here?” Loki asks, confused. He feels disorientated.

“That is no way to greet Hela, _Queen of Hel_ ,” she says. “It took some effort to summon you here, what with the current state of affairs. You would show some appreciation at the skill involved, if you were feeling your true self.”

“I would know more before I show even a slither of appreciation,” Loki replies. He is in no mood for this.

“Very well. I have a proposition for you. It is one I know you will relish in, for it contains all of the things you most enjoy,” she gives the faintest of sardonic smiles. “Namely deception, power and sorcery.”

Loki studies Hela’s face carefully before he responds. He is no fool, and does not wish to make an enemy so daunting. “Hela, I believe we have always had something of a _kindred-spiritedness_ , but you should know before you begin to wager with me that I am not the same cruel being I once was. I have changed, and I wish not to waste your precious time.”

“You will _never_ change, Loki.” Her voice remains cool, but her tense shoulders give away her slightly affronted state. “Always to be a trickster, wicked and jealous and resentful.”

“Nay. I am turning over a new leaf, and I would not have deception entwined in my story furthermore.” Loki regrets the words as they come out of his mouth, they give away too much and they are too sincere, but it is too late.

“Ah, but you _would_ like power and sorcery? And I trust you have already figured out the present _difficulty_ soon to befall Midgard, then?” Loki does not respond to the jibes, though his face gives his answer away. “You do not know? Oh how delightful. Perhaps you _are_ softened, Loki.” She circles him, assessing. “And I will take your silence as my lead to continue with the kind proposal I can offer to you, _boy_ …

“The being currently making plans to threaten Midgard has land to be bargained with that appeals to me. Plenty of it, in fact. He is interested only in the destruction of Midgard for folly, just because _he can_. I am therefore interested in him, because I find this sort of behaviour somewhat foolish, and I can see in it my own opportunities. There is not much left of Hel after recent events; I would have it returned to its former glory.

“I could bring you to your former glory also. If you agree to my terms, I will grant you with your older, stronger body instead of this current pubescent husk you’re residing in. I will do this in exchange for your assistance in bargaining with the said perpetrator, and for you to steal me the book of forbidden magic that remains locked in the Avengers’ Midgardian fortress, resultant of the peace treaty. The one that you have coveted also. I wish to use and return it before anybody notices it gone.”

The temptation to say yes frightens Loki so much that he says no. “I cannot, Hela, though I thank you for your gracious offer.”

 _Now_ Hela’s voice shows her annoyance. “And _why_ not?”

“Because,” he thinks about his words carefully. “Because I am indebted to Thor for being kind and forgiving to me. And I do not wish to make an enemy of his friends.”

Hela laughs — actually _laughs_ at him, scathing and brutal.

“Tell me that this is a lie or a trick?”

“No lies, no tricks.”

Hela laughs again. “Never mind passing up on an offer so generous; the day I thought I’d see you willingly obey your brother’s dutiful commands is the day I thought you’d finally be dead.” She walks up the stone steps to her throne and sits, looking down upon Loki, and then he observes the slightest crack of a smile in her expression as she continues to speak. “Though I must confess there is a slither within me that finds this new-fangled, blind faith in your brother to have its own certain charm… ’Tis refreshing to see the naivety of youth in a soul as bitter as yours again, after all that has transpired within the worlds.”

“…Thank you?” he offers, but she ignores it and continues with her own thoughts aloud.

“A god such as you Loki, mysteriously reborn without my knowledge or hand, is intriguing indeed. Though you will remember in time that following the path of _righteousness_ beside your brother is never to be the correct place for you and your ill mind. When you do remember this, I hope you also bitterly recall the opportunity you have refused from me today.”

“I do not wish to make an enemy of you, Hela,” Loki responds graciously now, trying not to think too much about the cool ferocity of her words.

“Indeed, I know conviction when I see it, Loki. And that takes a lot of courage. I respect that. You need not worry about making an enemy of me at this time.”

“I was once told I lack conviction.” Loki says, startling himself a little with the memory.

“You were once told many things. Perhaps you deceive me yet, but it seems that you can change.” She tightens her lips. “I would be interested to know how, if I thought you would tell. But still, I trust you not, _God of Lies_.” She raises her hand up and just like that, the air is thick with the smog of seidr and Loki wakes up bolt-upright in Thor’s bed, his brother fluttering eyelashes open beside him.

“Loki?” Thor asks, rubbing his eyes and looking toward his young brother with concern. “Another nightmare?”

Loki wants to tell him everything. He really does.

But he doesn’t.

“No,” he replies, calmly. “I just really need to piss.”

***

_Loki —the other Loki, still wandering round The Nothing— senses the interaction between his doppelgänger and Hela. He is impressed that Loki did not succumb to the temptation offered, only feeling a little bit resentful._

_In his own universe, it had taken him a long time to learn such things._

***

“You lied to me last night,” Thor says to Loki the following morning as he pours them a fresh, hot mug of tea each from the pot. He is pretending like it’s no big deal, but Loki can sense the hurt in his words. “Something happened that you did not wish to share.”

Loki places his cutlery down and clears his throat. “What? _No_. I simply needed to urinate. That is all.”

“Tell me what happened.” Thor’s voice bristles with aggression that Loki does not like.

“Well, I firstly walked to the bathroom, where I then proceeded to find my manhood in my—sorry, _your_ lounge pants—”

Thor raises from his seat and slams his fist on the table, sending Loki’s plate to the floor. Loki tries not to mourn the loss of bacon and spilled tea and remembers that there is something much more serious going on. Still, he can’t quite resist. “I was enjoying that.”

“This is not a time for jest, Loki. I would know of what you dreamt. It is important to me. To us.”

Loki hesitates, because he’s unsure if it _was_ an imagining, or rather reality. Either way, he knows now with the clarity of day that telling Thor the truth is definitely a bad idea. Hela seemed to know an awful lot about his own traits. What if Thor were to believe the same?

“Oh alright, if you’re going to get all moody about it. Just the usual. Snippets of childhood, fuzzy little pieces of adulthood. Stuff a bit scary, but nothing new. I didn’t want to waste your time merely going over the same old stories you’ve heard a hundred times over the past few days.” He stares at Thor’s plate as he speaks, hoping that he is convincing and nonchalant enough. “Are you done with that?”

Thor says nothing and nods. When Loki has finished the contents of the plate and poured more tea, his face softens a little.

“We are to meet with the other Avengers again today,” Loki pulls a face and sips at his tea at Thor’s declaration, “and before you protest — I know that it's probably the last place you wish to visit, so afterwards, we will go to any place of your choosing.” The offer catches Loki off-guard. He doesn’t really _know_ what he wants, and cannot remember what it is he loves most in life. “We can go anywhere, my brother.”

“Can we go to Asgard?” Loki asks, hopeful. Thor’s face is the picture of sadness then.

“Anywhere on _Midgard_ , Loki,” Loki huffs at this, but Thor refuses to give up. Ever stubborn. He takes a bite of toast. “I have heard that there is a small yet impressive zoological garden quite close to here, miraculously unscathed from the attacks. You…you used to love the animals on Asgard when we were young. They may have similar such beasts here.”

Loki raises an eyebrow with intrigue. He really doesn’t want to spend another second with those patronising, Avenging idiots, but he _would_ rather enjoy the company of some unknown creatures, and to learn something new. “Very well.”


	10. Kottrsnær

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki remembers something vivid from his childhood.  
> __________

After their fun-filled day out at the zoo, Loki sits in the bath and quietly contemplates recent happenings. He inhales a mixture of oils that distantly remind him of Asgard. The water has long gone cold, but it doesn’t bother him.

Hela was terrifying. He'd rather forget about  _that_.

Instead, he thinks back to his favourite animal from today; undoubtedly the snow leopards. He and Thor had walked up a very steep hill to get to the animals, which was worth the hike, because the creatures were impressive indeed — so beautiful and dangerous-looking. Navigating their sharp terrain with ease, as though they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Instantly, they had reminded Loki of a similar creature belonging to Asgard. They were called _Kottrsnær_ , known for their ferocious yet aloof nature. Strikingly beautiful fur, fluid movement, formidable presence. Loki had always quite admired them when he and Thor would spot them out in the blizzard-swept forests of Vanaheim, though they were impossibly rare to sight.

One time, during the years where the brothers would go on over-extended periods of hunting together, Loki remembers how they had the opportunity to kill one. Loki hadn’t hesitated — after all what would be the point in a hunting trip if hesitation were to come into it? — But Thor had vehemently disagreed with the notion.

The memory consumes Loki’s mind again, as it had done the second he had laid eyes on his first snow leopard hours earlier…

______

“ _No, Loki,_ ” he growls, “we have hunted enough today, and do not need its meat or fur for any purpose.”

“So?” Loki replies, annoyed. In response, Thor makes a purposefully loud growling sound, making the creature aware of their presence. It chooses not to confront the pair, and instead runs away into the dusk. Loki shoves at Thor viciously. “Think of the esteem we would have received upon bringing such a slain beast back to father.”

“But, but…” Thor shoves back. Loki notes how his eyes are a most lovely shade of blue when he is affected so. “It is far too beautiful to receive such a fate.” They stand there frozen together, reflecting on the words. Thor takes the throwing daggers from Loki’s hands and encircles them with his own. “Do you not agree?”

Loki’s breath hitches at the contact, and he curses himself for agreeing with his brother’s sentiments. _Such_ a turncoat. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

At this, Thor smiles and grabs at Loki’s neck. He pauses for a moment as Loki looks at him, eyes wide. “My brother, you are much like a Kottrsnær.” Thor speaks his thoughts aloud without thinking, as is so often the case.

Loki grins in return. “Because I am so beautiful?” he goads. Thor blushes, but he does not disagree.

“Because you are so _volatile,_ ” Thor counters. “I did not know if that beast would have torn us to shreds or ran off into the wild abyss. As unpredictable as one of your ill moods of recent.” Loki lowers his head to hide his disappointment, but Thor continues his musing. “Of course, its striking beauty is most impressive of all. I wonder if it knows itself to be so fortunate.”

Thor turns Loki’s chin upwards with his fingers. His hands linger there, the touch like a hot brand on Loki’s cool skin. Loki closes his eyes as he lets Thor explore the twists and turns of his face with fingers that tremble only a little bit.

His breath hitches again as he feels Thor’s thumb rub across his lips, parting them and hooking it gently into his mouth. Thor pulls him a few inches closer, and he leans in…

Loki does not understand, but he _wants_.

As Thor cradles Loki’s neck and their mouths are almost joined together — _so tormentingly close_ — the Kottrsnær returns, leaping through the air to attack Loki. It has him pinned to the ground in a split second, because Loki was caught completely off-guard; its white teeth are formidable and terrifyingly close to the flesh of his throat.

It is clear that the beast returned to attack only Loki, vengeful and wicked, but it is Thor in the end who slays it. Finding Loki’s forgotten daggers on the snow-dusted floor, he pierces them into its jugular and wrestles the cat to the ground.

And oh, how it screams. As it whimpers its last breath of life, red blood pooled on its beautiful fur as well as the snow beneath, Loki looks over at Thor in shock. His brother is also covered in blood, swimming in regret.

“Let us go home.” Thor says, wiping his face clean and handing the daggers back to Loki.

They bury the creature in the snow, and they do not speak of it again.

______

The memory is the clearest, most vivid thing Loki has remembered since all of this began — even stronger than when Thor brought him to New York- when he was hit with only snippets of the horrific, jealousy-laden things he had done in order keep on the throne. He wonders what makes this memory so special.

Perhaps it is because it’s something he _wants_ to remember…

He’s taken from his thoughts with a gentle knock on the door.

“Yes?”

“May I come in?” Thor enters, averting his eyes. “Sorry to intrude... I was growing worried.”

“I’m fine,” Loki says. “Sit. Talk with me.” Thor sits on the closed toilet seat, looking uneasy. “Tell me about our childhood.”

Thor refuses. “I do not think it wise.”

“Oh come on, Thor. You won’t tell me at least a tiny bit about my past? You know, it may _help_ me.”

Thor looks conflicted, but he concedes eventually. “What do you wish to know?”

Loki wants to know if Thor remembers the events involving the _Kottrsnær_ on that day, but he's too afraid to ask outright, so he formulates a little plan. “I enjoyed our trip to the zoo today, brother. It has made me curious for our past. What were our favourite beasts back on Asgard?”

“Ah!” Thor’s eyes light up with mirth. “You would never give me a truthful answer to that question, because there were rumours that...that you _mated_ with many different creatures of our home. Serpent, wolf, you name it…”

“I know this body betrays me, but I would like to imagine that I kept better lovers than _that,_ ” Loki scoffs, heat flushing up his cheeks. At least he _thinks_ he would neither enjoy nor engage in bestiality…

Thor's chuckle subsides after a short while. “While I cannot quite speak for you, certainly my favourite animal from home would be either between the Uxi, or the Kottrsnær.”

“Ah. If my memory serves me correctly, ‘snær’ means snow in Old Norse, right?” Loki asks, bright-eyed. He likes getting what he wants. “So, the Kottrsnær would be similar perhaps to the snow leopards we saw earlier today?”

Thor beams, and Loki almost feels bad for the deception.

“Yes, only much more mighty, I’d say. Easily twice the size. Deadly, and so very beautiful. Their eyes are a most vivacious green in colour…” Thor says, untamed eye contact rife.

“What?” Loki asks when Thor pauses for too long, evidently deciding on something.

“We once…” Thor starts, but doesn’t finish. “Tell me, what did you think about our discussion with the Avengers today? Can you remember any of your magic clearly enough to cast yet?”

Loki wants to tell him that he remembers _something_ clearly, and even though it is not magic, it seems significant enough.

“I think that they are all fools.” He does not care one little bit about the Avengers. He doesn’t care about the threat to Midgard, not right now. “And _no_ , I cannot yet recite any magic.”

“A pity. I thought that you may have been inspired.”

Loki ignores the comment and gets out of the bath, suddenly feeling cold. “Hand me a robe, please,” he requests, and is granted with a fluffy towel. Thor is unable to deter his gaze as Loki pats himself dry. “What does this body make you think about?” he dares to question.

“Your fragility,” Thor pauses. “And your morality.”

As Loki ponders those words, Thor strips off his own clothes and gets into the now freezing cold water. Loki returns the gaze with equal devotion, noting how Thor is far too big for the damned bathtub, and how the ends of Thor’s blonde hair dip into the water, floating and clinging onto neck and shoulders when he _does_ manage to fit himself in. Rivulets of water drip from muscled skin as Thor shifts around further to turn the hot tap on.

Loki dares not look at what lies _below_ the water, for he may be blinded.

“Your body… makes me think of things I probably shouldn’t,” Loki smirks, his face simpering. “You are quite the marble-chiselled, muscled hero, brother.”

Thor does not smirk at this; he runs tongue across lips instead.

“You are bold tonight, Loki. Keep up such mischief and you will surely have your magic and memories fully returned in no time.”

Loki doesn’t tell Thor that after recent events, he’d prefer to keep forgetting some things. They share an uncomfortable silence for a few moments until Loki leaves for the bedroom, where he changes into Thor’s nightwear and gets into bed. He inhales deeply, thinks of his brother’s naked body soaking in Loki-laced water, and takes himself in hand, knowing not that Thor does the same.

The less they know, the better.


	11. All Grown Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceit infiltrates itself further between Thor and Loki, with drastic consequence.  
> __________

“Are we to go to your Avengers again today?” Loki asks Thor, as his big brother stares out of the bedroom window. He's bare-chested, and Loki notes the countless muscles of his taut back and shoulders, the golden slope of his arms as they lean gently on the windowsill.

Thor turns around and smiles briefly. “Only if you want to, Loki. If you would prefer to stay here, I will allow it.”

Loki looks at him with suspicion. “Well, you’ve certainly had a change of heart,” he quizzes, unconvinced. Perhaps it is a trap, or a test.

“I know,” Thor says thoughtfully. “I fear I have perhaps been a little too overprotective of you, brother. As long as you promise to stay out of mischief and not leave the apartment, I do not mind you being alone for a short while.”

Loki almost wants to say that he’ll go with Thor instead —just for spite— but then he thinks of the allure of spending a few extra hours in bed, and of eating the Midgardian breakfast treat called ‘Lucky Charms’ that he’d found in the cupboard yesterday evening. He could even try out some television too. Apparently it is most entertaining.

“Very well,” he says, hiding true joy beneath a cool exterior. “I will stay here.”

After lounging around for half an hour —and eating the entire contents of the sugary cereal straight out the box— Loki decides he is bored. Without Thor around to pester, he feels uncomfortable in his own company. He switches the television on, but pays it no mind. News, or weather, or something else utterly _boring_.

Instead, he starts rifling through Thor’s possessions.

What he finds at first is surprisingly little, much to his annoyance. It is as though Thor came here with nothing at all, and has no care for trinkets or mementos. The storage cupboards and drawers still have a lot of bric-a-brac from the previous home’s owner, and Loki wonders for the first time about their fate. Would they come back? Were they dead? Did Thor know this?

He gives up his fruitless rummaging — what he was searching for, he knows not — and gets back into bed, telling himself that he will most certainly _not_ bring himself off again. No no no. He will not.

Guilt washes over him when he thinks back to last night; brother’s name on his tongue as he spent like a stupid horny teenager. He closes his eyes and throws a pillow over his own head, moping about like a lost lamb.

An unidentifiable feeling washes over Loki then; and he feels compelled to look under the bed. Therein lies some dirty socks, _plenty_ of dust, and a small cardboard box.

Loki pulls out the box and inside it is an intricate wooden box. It looks _positively_ Asgardian, so Loki is intrigued, but it is locked and there appears to be no key.

“Damn.”

But then he remembers — back in the kitchen drawer, next to the spoons...

Success!

Inside the beautiful keepsake, there are iridescent sheets of a special paper which Loki surprises himself by recognising as _Alfheim_ in origin, and dripping in magic. Each of the pieces has a photographic image on. He pulls the pile out and gasps. The first image is a picture of Thor and he. They’re quite young — about the age Loki looks right now, in fact — and Thor has him in a rough embrace as they both smile. He _remembers_ the memory being captured; Frigga had taken the image with her seidr, as was the only way possible on Asgard.

They were in the gardens named after her, admiring the plentiful crop that a particularly wonderful, golden summer had provided. The sun shines on them both, but it is Thor who captures the light most beautifully. Loki smiles as he traces his fingers over his brother’s happy face.

The next photo is another memory that cuts through Loki like a bittersweet knife. It is from the day Thor was to be coronated. Loki knows he did something bad to his brother that day, _many_ things bad actually, but he cannot quite remember what, or why. What he can remember though —upon seeing it before him— is this moment, when they were both in Thor’s chambers, early morning.

Frigga had looked upon them both with equal adoration, but Loki had felt himself inadequate that day.

 _“My boys, all grown up,”_ she’d said, cooing. _“Indulge me with a magical memory on this special day.”_ And with that, Thor had put Loki into a headlock and kissed him in his raven black hair. The image captures the moment perfectly; Loki can remember the feeling of love and hate at his brother’s ease of affection, how he’d seen it as a sign of weakness. His brother _looked_ regal, but he was not regally behaved, and he was _certainly_ not ready for the throne…

Before Loki can think any further, he hears the front door open. In a mad scramble, he throws the shimmering photos back into the box back where they came from and dives into the bed, looking nonchalant as possible.

When he looks again later, the box is locked and the key is nowhere to be found.

 

***

 

Two weeks remain until the threat may manifest.

As Loki sits —extremely bored and silent— in his _red hoodie mussed hair and eye-lined disguise_ , he eyeballs those that call themselves Avengers. Thor’s _friends_. He’s beginning to regret the decision to come here again with his brother. He longs to be back in bed, perhaps masturbating or eating cereal.

Though, he should count his blessings. At least he hasn’t been appointed _beverage maker_ on this day. It seems that after the coffee spillage last time, they’d rather have someone else do it.

Loki wonders how many of these mortals despise him; how they’d kill him without hesitation if they only knew he were sat amongst their ranks.

The one with the red hair, who calls herself Natasha. She _definitely_ would, without question. Her eyes are filled with cold blood, though her smile is candied-sweet.

The bookwormish one —who looks just as uncomfortable as Loki himself to be there— perhaps he would choose to spare him. Apparently, _he_ turns into a green monster that wants to kill everything. Loki can relate to that sentiment a little…

How about the one with wings, who thinks he’s a falcon? Seems a little self-righteous and lap-doggish, as though he’s missing a master to obey. He’d probably do whatever he was told.

The one who shrinks down into an ant… well, he’s a bit of a maverick. Perhaps he would simply shrug, and offer Loki a bite of the burrito he’s chomping down on…

…Loki is drawn from his thoughts with a not-so-subtle cough from Thor — and a face that silently says _pay attention_.

Loki looks down at his hand, which he decided to paint with a most handsome black nail varnish that has a slight blue tinge. The voices blend into one long string, and he pays no attention to who is saying what.

“So we _still_ have nothing new to go on?”

“Has Strange been in touch yet?”

“We’ve not heard a thing.”

“What does it matter? This is nothing to do with him.”

“Probably chilling out in a temple somewhere in Cambodia.”

“Either that, or he’s unlocked a portal to _another_ other dimension.”

“He’s useless anyway. Mind like a bag of cats when he hasn’t got his Agamattio Amulet Eyeball, or whatever the hell it’s called—”

“He’d still kick _your_ ass, that’s for sure.”

“Come now! Let us have some structure here,” Loki looks up when he hears his brother’s voice bellow. “We have but fourteen days to plan our attack and defence. Bickering will not suffice.”

“Well, S.H.I.E.L.D are handling the attack _and_ defence side of things, to a point. They’ve enlisted a few of us to assist with their strategy. It’s the uh, _mystical_ element to the potential threat that’s got everybody confused as Hell.”

“We just need Strange back, to put it simply. We’re working on it. Also, if you could try to seek assistance from Asgard, Thor. Anything they’ve got would be a big help.”

“There are no wise enough sorcerers belonging to Asgard present there at this moment, save for Odin himself.” Thor says. “And I fear he would be more hinderance than help, out of spite.”

Loki starts biting at his perfect nails, chewing off flecks of shimmering blue-black. “Would anybody like a coffee?” he finds himself saying, in a voice that sounds nothing like his own.

 

***

 

Loki does not sleep well that night. When he awakes from the ill-slumber, the first thing he sees is Thor beside him, glaring pensively— sunrise and shadow cast across his features.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Uh, okay, let me wake up first.”

“I have not slept, brother,” Thor says. “I have watched you all night, and I believe you ready.” Loki knows not what he speaks of.

“For what? Breakfast?” Loki jests. Thor’s face remains sullen.

“The Norn Stones that we have in our possession. They were calling to me last night, after you had fallen asleep. There is something that I desire to use them for, if you will oblige.”

“But they are not to be trifled with, Thor,” Loki warns, “You’d do well to remember what happened in Edinburgh before you ask me to do anything.”

“I know. That’s why we will do it elsewhere this time,” he offers. “Please, Loki. I would ask that you trust me in this, as I have trusted you thus far.”

Loki looks at his brother. There is something amiss in his gaze, something that _definitely_ shouldn’t be trusted, but Loki nods anyway.

He lets Thor take him to Yggdrasil, air thick with seidr and destiny, where Loki shudders as a brief snippet of Ragnarok claws through his brain. The anarchy, the _bloodshed_ …

“Thor, whatever this is, I _cannot_ ,” Loki pleads, finally giving into cowardice when the legs from his de-aged form go weak beneath him, but Thor has already harnessed enough magical energy to persuade the Norns to consider the unspoken desire.

Loki would be impressed, if he wasn’t so terrified.

There is a great flash of purest white magic that soon swirls into greens and greys, consuming Loki by seeping through his flesh and bones. He is suffocated — he is going to die — he cannot breathe, he—

He wakes up to Thor’s touch on his arm, and it scalds his skin, imprints upon him memory after memory after memory, slashing through his very being with no regard nor reason, nanoseconds of torture that feel somehow stretched and all-consuming.

When it is finished, the air around them becomes a subtle golden glow, and the last thing he notices before he falls unconscious is Thor’s beautiful face, etched with worry.


	12. Naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has transformed Loki back to his older form. Loki resents him for it.  
> __________

“Where did you learn to control such magic?” Loki demands the second his eyes fly open. They are in a forest that looks vaguely familiar, and definitely not belonging to Midgard. His voice wavers, but his anger does not. “ _You,_ always so disinterested and incompetent in seidr, and suddenly you are an accomplished sorcerer?”

Thor evades the question with guilty eyes.

“Answer me!”

“I did it to protect you, Loki.”

“And _how_ is this protecting me, exactly? Thor, I remember everything…” he says, voice laced with his brother’s betrayal as he considers this fact. “ _Everything._ Not simply a fuzzy, fluffy interpretation, Thor. Every little horrible detail.”

It is true. He remembers all that he would rather not. Pain, death, mutiny, treachery. He remembers too all of the glances, lingering touches between Thor and he. Everything that should have remained purged, forgotten.

“I had to do it. You needed all of your memories so that—” Thor is clearly having difficulty convincing himself of something, “so that you are ready for the upcoming attack on Midgard. Your magic is second to none, Loki.”

“Oh compliment me not, you fool. Seidr is far more complex than you can imagine. It would not simply suffice to have my memories alone…” he grabs Thor by the shoulders in a threat before realising that the magical process has rendered him stark naked. And that he is no longer in the physical form of his younger self.

“My body!” he gasps, “I have—I am… _me_.”

“Yes, you are _you_.” Thor smiles, and smoothes his hand down the side of Loki’s torso. It appears to Loki that Thor wishes to act further, but he does not, instead staring at the floor and removing his hand.

As Loki calms, Thor speaks.

“Do—you… do you remember all things now, Loki?”

“Well, how would I know if I remember _all_ things? Bit of a stupid question, isn’t it?” Loki barks, ignoring his own contradiction and knowing exactly what Thor insinuates. He licks his lips in a subconsciously seductive manner, noticing Thor looking at his naked form again with reluctant and greedy eyes. With a flick of his wrist, he is in full ceremonial wear, green and grand, helmet and all — the old armour that served many times to protect Loki both literally and figuratively. It has felt so long since he has worn it, so long since he has possessed the power for even such a simple glamour.

So long since he has felt this self-conscious, too.

Feeling old rage simmer within himself, Loki sighs in frustration.

Thor assesses Loki, a worrying thought suddenly itching to leave his mouth, “You are not merely a copy, are you? The Norns’ magic, it worked correctly?”

Loki scowls, not knowing whether to punch Thor or cry at his concern. Instead he opts for truth, albeit while viciously shoving him. “I am no carbon copy, brother. I am the same unworthy serpent you left behind in the Infinity War, fighting alone in…in…”

The emotions torrent through his mind, his heart. Loki falls to his knees. His armour dissolves away as a single tear rolls down his cheek, betraying his expressionless face. “You should not have done this.”

Thor crouches down and takes Loki’s hands in his own, “I meant you no harm, Loki, I swear. I only wanted to pro-”

“ _To protect me, yes,_ ” Loki snarls as he verbally attacks with a quavering voice, “how very _noble_ of you, dear brother. Pity you are many years too late already.”

Thor lets go of his hand and makes a controlled fist instead, growing impatient. “I have always done all I can to protect you, Loki. Make no mistake of it. It has been ever _your own_ indiscretions that have led you down such ways of thinking.”

There is a moment of eye contact before rage sparks green in Loki’s eyes, as suddenly, the urge to punch Thor becomes all-consuming.

So he does.

They fight rough and dirty, with Loki not quite as quick as he knows he ought to be and Thor leaving Mjolnir forgotten in the dirt, along with Loki’s tricks. Still, Loki evades many of Thor’s brutish swings with varying degrees of success. He even manages to injure Thor with a particularly sharp piece of rock, slashing it across his face with venom. Eventually though, as has always been the way, it is Thor who is the victor. Loki is too overwhelmed, too emotionally frazzled. Thor has him pinned into the dirt, and in this embarrassing state he suddenly remembers that he is naked as well as defeated.

In spite of this, Loki struggles for breath as he laughs. For what else can he do, now that he is right back where he left off?

Thor pushes him further into the ground.

“You think this _funny_?” Thor quizzes. Loki responds with further laughter, low and lilting.

“How long have you wanted to bestow violence upon me again, brother?” he spits in further response, lips curling in disdain at his own words when Thor does not answer. “ _How long?_ ”

“It was you who started this,” Thor replies, thoughtful. Loki sees this sadness and feels it deeply, but it does not stop him from feeling bitter also.

“Oh, really? I think you’ll find it was _you_ , when you turned my body back to something capable of withstanding such assaults. Can’t attack a youngster, can you, eh?” Thor says nothing. Loki smiles sardonically, enjoying his brother’s shamed silence before breaking it. “Such fun though, mm? At least _one_ of us has the guts to freely admit how much the violence between us has been missed.”

“I have not desired this, Loki.” Thor looks down at him and Loki feels Thor’s fingers clutch tighter around his arms.

“Then what _have_ you desired?” Green eyes implore, but they already suspect the answer now. It took fresh, younger eyes without hate clouding them to see how Thor may covet Loki; how such desire may have not properly been noted in the past.

Had it always been this way? Many memories with hindsight now deem it probable, but Loki is too preoccupied to follow those thoughts with the necessary meticulousness required, especially now that Thor is inching closer to his face, lips parted and dry.

Thor goes to speak, then he decides to kiss Loki instead; tender and chaste it is at first, but soon turns to something much more heated as Thor dares to brush his tongue past Loki’s terrified lips.

The main thing that keeps Loki from cowering away is that in this, Thor appears equally as scared —he can feel it in the tense muscles above him— and yet, Thor is the braver of the two as always, releasing Loki’s arms from his grip to run shaky fingers through raven black hair, claiming his mouth further with a deeper kiss. Exploring new territory as though it were only ever meant for him.

In some ways, Loki believes this true. With this thought in mind, he uses his hands to touch his brother’s face, greedy for what should have always been _only_ _his_ , delicately tracing across the wound he’d inflicted moments before that’s already began healing itself. Thor hisses as he does this— right into his mouth the sound vibrates and it makes Loki’s bones tingle with arousal.

Thor bites at his lower lip and wraps a hand around his neck, rough yet gentle, before making a trail from mouth to jaw to throat with a hot tongue, antagonising the cool flesh beneath.

Thor inhales sharply and Loki copies him. If he’s being honest, Loki is lucky he can manage to breathe _at all_. _Think at all._ He has imagined this transgression likely a hundred thousand times in his mind over the centuries, but it has made him no better prepared for the emotion that engulfs him. The cacophonous hammering of his heart. The trembling of his flesh.

Loki feels things too deeply, he knows it is his biggest weakness.

This must stop.

It appears Thor thinks so too, as he muffles _sorry_ into Loki’s neck repeatedly, lips pressing into his skin like a firebrand. Loki can feel tears prickling, but he refuses to cry — he has done that _plenty_ during his time in the body of his former weakling self.

Instead, _somehow_ , he throws Thor off and scrabbles to sit upright.

Thor looks absolutely torn as his azure blue eyes roam over Loki’s naked flesh once more, paying particular mind to the obvious arousal that betrays both of their resolve. He repeats his pleas with painful clarity now, while the eyes continue to betray.

“Forgive me, Loki.” He speaks with level-headed restraint. “I should not have done something so careless.”

“And which transgression are you begging forgiveness for? The use of forbidden, unpracticed magic upon my vulnerable young form, or for acting upon semi-incestuous urges so covetously?”

“Both.”

“Well you are forgiven for neither.”

“I thought it would please you also… To have your body at the age it should be, that is…”

Loki, feeling self-conscious, glamours himself into a sharply-tailored dark green suit. It makes Thor’s stare no less burning.

“Your body and your powers, they are blessings.”

Loki does not correct him by saying that they could indeed be considered the very _opposite_ of blessings, that they are a burden for Loki and those around him.

Under the emotional strain, Loki finds that he cannot manage to keep up the spell. But he pretends, with an arrogant look across his face, that he intentionally chooses to render himself naked again.

“ _Why?”_  is the only word he can manage now. People think Loki to be argumentative, and indeed they would be correct. But he also knows when to pick his battles —well, _mostly_ — and here it is clear that Thor believed himself to have done the proper thing. It is therefore pointless right now to argue otherwise, and he feels his bitterness slip away as Thor is bold fool enough to grab Loki’s hand and press it to his chest.

“Brother. My heart told me to do it, despite my head’s warnings.” Thor doesn’t clarify which point he means, which is just as well, because Loki doesn’t wish to think about either.

“I suppose I should be thankful that you trust me enough to be _this monster_ once more,” he murmurs, “instead of wishing another less fortunate fate upon me.”

Thor flinches at the accusation, but he does not let go of Loki’s hand.

“Brother, you are no monster. We will discuss things further when time permits, but our energy must be focused on other business now, and we need to work together. If the perpetrator planning the attack on the anniversary event is whom I suspect it to be, it will be a formidable battle indeed.”

Loki tenses.

“This is why you must assist.”

Now, Loki snarls. He pulls his hand away.

“You caused me all of this _anguish_ in order to help appease your Midgardian fools?”

The thing that surprises Loki the most is that this fact actually surprises him, even after everything.

“No, Loki. You know there is much more to this,” Thor says firmly, opting now to grab the back of Loki’s neck, making him shiver. “Besides, are you not still seeking redemption for the wrongs of your past?”

Loki shakes his head in derision, ignoring the question and the close proximity.

 _Of course_ he is seeking redemption.

“Your _pals_ , they will surely want my blood. Particularly now that I’ve lost my cute puppy dog face, and powered up with magical prestige once more.”

“ _Precisely_ , brother,” Thor barbs, smiling now. “This means you must render yourself invisible or disguised, in order to trick them.”

Loki sneers. “And if I refuse to help you?”

“This is your choice, Loki,” Thor replies, faltering and losing his grip. “I would not force you to do anything you did not wish.”

“Kind of feels like you already _have_.” Loki hides the true hurt behind his words. He sighs, then. Inevitable, it is. “Nevertheless, tell me everything you know, my _golden brother_. I must confess that my attention span was much diminished during our recent visits to the Avengers’ not-so-secret-base.”

As Thor tells him his suspicions, pouring out information in his typically trusting manner, Loki thinks about two things only: the powerful possibilities granted to him through remembering his seidr, and the delectable heat of his brother’s mouth.


	13. Books of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to help Loki fully regain his abilities, Thor finds himself returning to Asgard.  
> __________

Thor is growing worried.

Loki’s magic hasn’t returned properly. He can recite virtually all of his incantations, but there is just something _missing_ , Thor can feel it. His glamours, for example, haven’t _quite_ got the edge that they should have, and he cannot keep them conjured for long enough to convince.

“I just need time,” Loki spits viciously at Thor, frustrated for the hundredth time that day. And Thor believes him, but unfortunately time is not an endless luxury that they have. The attack is due to occur in little over two days, and Loki’s temper seems to be making things worse, just as much as Thor’s apparently oafish impatience.

Any information or speculation from the Avengers is relayed to Loki through Thor afterwards, because _still_ Loki cannot keep himself hidden well enough out of sight or glamoured as his younger self for long enough to eavesdrop.

They know not of much in terms of development anyway. Steven Strange’s amulet and levitation cloak have disappeared. But then again, so has he. There is little in the way of evidence, just a little trail peppered here and there.

There are some suspicions regarding who the bitter sorcerer leaving little clues and planning to attack Midgard may be, but nothing concrete. Thor has his suspicions, and he has voiced them to Loki already, hoping that his brother may shed light or add further opinion. He did nothing of the sort, save for nodding and remaining relatively neutral.

 _Back to his old tricks_ — Thor hopes not. He is certain. Almost.

So a different approach must be tried. Thor re-enters the bedroom —which he has let Loki claim as his now, while he opts for the sofa— with a cup of tea and an almost overflowing bowl of cereal, hoping that this will rouse Loki out of his particularly ill mood.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave me be?!”

“But perhaps you need some sustenance, brother. You have not eaten properly in days.”

Loki turns around and gives Thor a blazing look while raising a hand, fingers curled. In doing so, with very crude seidr, he manages to get Thor to spill the bowl of Lucky Charms all over himself.

“Ah, you were correct,” Loki smiles. “Sustenance _was_ required. I haven’t been able to do that trick for a long time.” He takes the hot mug of tea from Thor’s other hand, and Thor grits his teeth while preventing himself from attacking his brother. He had so hated the time of their youth when Loki discovered how to knock goblets and plates from his hands. There had been much violence that year.

“You know,” Thor thoughtlessly goads as he removes his red T-Shirt. “If you wanted me to strip naked in order to better aid your studying, you could have just asked.”

Loki flushes, but his voice remains cool at Thor’s unexpected flirtation. “Please, Thor. Such efforts are not necessary, for I can already read every one of your preposterous, ever-bulging muscles, whether you are clothed or not.”

Thor runs his tongue across lips as Loki realises the retort was perhaps an even bigger flirtation. “So my body is as well-read as one of your most beloved tomes?”

“Do not flatter yourself, oaf,” Loki scoffs, but then his eyes light up. “Actually, I think you _can_ provide further sustenance,” it is Loki’s turn to lick lips now. He has an idea. “There is a book of spells that I think would help me greatly with the magic required to negate the threat.”

Asgard. Of course the answer would lie within Asgard.

“Actually. There are _three_ seidr-containing tomes that I would quite like to have returned to me…”

Thor thinks it best if he goes alone. Loki agrees.

***

 

“Things not going well, huh?” Verity asks. She watches as her best friend is huddled over a swirl of magic, worry etched all over his features. Perhaps The Nothing is getting to him a little bit, as well as his little _Earth-99999 impromptu project_ …

“No, Verity,” the Other-Loki laments, “things are going rather beyond crap, in fact.”

“Y’know, you haven’t really told me what’s been going with _that_ Loki and Thor recently,” she quizzes, keeping it light enough. “Have you been… watching them much?”

“Nope,” Loki replies, clawing his fingers through the seidr smoke, making it disappear. At least he _thinks_ his telling the truth, Verity notes. He stares at her, all sad. “It’s just… hard to see my re-aged brother from a parallel mother enduring such emotional torture.”

“He’s been _re-aged_?”

“Yup. It’s tragic. I mean, he can’t even manage _Magic 101_ at the minute.”

Verity shakes her head. “I…I still don’t think you should interfere, Loki,” she folds her arms tight across her body. “You’ve got enough on your plate for _this_ universe.”

“I know.” Loki smiles at her. “Suppose I’ve already done what I can, _for now_ at least. I won’t look again.”

“Do you promise?”

“I pinky-swear promise.”

And Verity can see through any lie, so she knows that he means it.

***

 

Odin is not pleased to see Thor once he realises the purpose of his visit. He sits proud on the throne, but he does not look renewed. He looks old and tired, and Thor feels awful.

“I will not lend any hand to Midgard whilst our land is in such a state of refute. I cannot believe you have the audacity to ask, let alone show your face here after your betrayal.”

“But this is a matter that will have rippled consequence if the threat is not subdued.” Thor replies in earnest, head bowed. “And I am sorry that you see my abandonment as such, father. I know I should not have allowed my selfishness to manifest. I was overcome with grief, appalled at the devastation that Thanos—”

“As were we all. This is no excuse for foolish and self-centred behaviour.”

“I know, and I beg your forgiveness for the transgression.”

“You will only be forgiven when you cut your ties with Midgard and take your place on this throne.”

“I cannot father,” Thor pleads. “I _cannot_ rule from that throne. You know this already.”

“Well then. The next time you return here without my prior consent, I may just have you imprisoned.”

Thor looks up at his father and he wonders _when_ he will have to take the throne, because it _is_ inevitable. Wonders if it will turn him into the bitter, unforgiving man he sees today, if he has to take it without a queen at his side.

He bows down.

“I am sorry for wasting your time, father. I bid you goodbye.”

“Before you abandon your home again,” Odin says with a hint of malice, “did you think I would not find out?” Thor keeps his expression emotionless as possible. “Hela does not communicate often with me, but she felt it prudent to mention that _he_ walks the earth, as a young man, foolish and stubborn and protected by a bigger, even more stubborn fool.”

Thor’s face cracks into thoughtful certainty. “He is changed.”

“He is _never_ changed. And will you never learn, son?” Thor holds back his response as Odin looks down at him with rage. “Your allegiance to your brother is responsible for so many wrongs, Thor.”

“But _he_ is your son too—”

“Loki stopped being my son the day he usurped the throne.”

“Mother granted him the opportunity to do so the first time—”

“Silence!” Odin bellows, “I meant the _second_ time. And do not defend him, Thor. His allegiance with Thanos brought our golden land to its knees, our entire _universe_ to its knees, and for what purpose? Simply because he felt abandoned, or ill with power? These are not justifiable or redeeming qualities in any man, let alone a son of Odin. Tell me, can you defend such bitter and cruel actions merely with a thin thread of family pride?”

Thor says nothing, for Odin is partly right. Loki has had an integral part in so many wicked wrongs over the past decade. But when it comes to Loki, Thor has always been a fool.

Perhaps they were both fools for each other.

He thinks back to the day on Svartelheim, when Loki risked and ultimately sacrificed his life not only for Frigga, but for Thor and for Jane. He thinks too, of how the honour it carried was wholly ignored by any person whom Thor had told afterwards.

Thor remembers now how ambivalent he’d felt when he found Loki to be very much alive and captured in a web of his own lies. How they had fought, how Ragnarok tore apart the very fabric of reality…

How in the end, Loki _had_ done the right thing and broken away from Thanos’s cruel grip during the Infinity War, only to be again wholly ignored by any person he tried to fight alongside, despite his immense power and abilities. _Thor included_.

He also thinks to the endless years of their childhood, how he had often bullied and belittled his younger brother and yet at the same time adored him more than anyone else in the realms. How such contradiction could have lasting, complicated effects on a fragile mind…

He supposes they have both made mistakes.

“I do not seek to defend his previous actions,” Thor says boldly before he turns to walk out of the beautiful throne room. “If Loki wishes to redeem himself, whether he deserves it or not, I am thankful for his penance. Long overdue as it may be.”

Odin says nothing, but his face is etched with regret as he watches his golden son walk away.

Thor knew it would be this way. He knows how stubborn his father is and he knows that cannot be changed. Before he begins the journey back to Earth, he makes his way to Loki’s untouched chambers for the thing he really came for.

Books of magic. One with a dark green spine and gold runes etched on the side, first page folded in half. One with an indigo cover and silver inscription covering the entirety of it, text slanted to the right and dense. One that is slate grey — particularly dusty and has half its pages missing — apparently, this is a forbidden print and would bring misfortune to anybody found to have it in their possession.

Thor locates the three tomes from Loki’s impressive shelves with relative ease given the vast amount of work there. He notes how, even with all of the disrepute Asgard is currently in, his brother’s rooms are in perfect order. Typical, he thinks, that they would remain unblemished amidst such utter chaos.

While he thoughtfully brushes his finger across all of the _miscellaneous books_ neatly stored on the top shelf —presumably in the order Loki deems most important— Thor notices a ruby red spine, titled with his own name. He plucks it from the collection, remembering that it once used to be covered in twine, with a huge blue padlock on the front— dripping with magic that rendered it un-openable.

Loki used to joke that the book was a collection of the different ways in which he plotted to kill Thor for his oafishness. The jest had angered Thor in their youth, and then Loki really _did_ start trying to kill him, but the book was already long forgotten about, Thor always assuming it a trick in the first place. It was likely empty.

When he opens it now, far from empty he finds it.

The book is ciphered in a code of Loki’s own childhood imagining, but Thor had cracked the secret to this particular language back when they were boys, after having spied Loki doing it more than once when he'd thought Thor wasn’t there.

Thor is not as stupid with magic as Loki often accuses him to be. He wields Mjolnir, after all.

All he has to do in this instance is run his fingers across the text with so simple an incantation that Thor can still easily remember it after all these years.

When he does so, all of the pages fill with Loki’s handwriting, neat and tightly curled in blackest ink. Written accounts of their notable adventures together as boys, undated of course — for what good are dates to gods?

He fans the pages between thumb and fingers, until he feels compelled to stop.

 

> _Thor and I killed a Kottrsnær today._ _It was my idea to slay the beast, and Thor talked me out of it. It seems we can talk each other both into and out of anything recently…_ _He said the creature was too beautiful, that its volatile and powerful nature reminded him of me._  
>    
>  _My own brother actually said these words. He looked into my eyes, gazing upon me with such reverence that almost embarrasses me to recount._  
>  _Then the damned thing attacked me. Thor, in turn, attacked it in a most thorough and poignant way, its blood everywhere; absolutely hideous, but that’s not why I am affected so.  
>  __  
> _ _I wonder what would have transpired had the cat not returned in such an ill-timed manner, and whether or not I would have openly welcomed it._

Thor gasps at the coincidence, having discussed the beasts with his brother mere days ago after centuries of silence. Though he had omitted it during the conversation with Loki, he remembers this event as if it had happened yesterday. It was the first time he’d realised that he would genuinely do anything to protect Loki. It was also the first time he’d realised that he loved Loki more than he should. That he didn’t just love, he _wanted_. Worse still, he saw the exact same sentiment reflected through his brother’s eyes...

It would be the one battle that neither could truly win without tumultuous, realm-shattering consequence.

But the realms are shattered now anyway.

Things are being built afresh, stories are to be rewritten. Perhaps, once this threat to Midgard _is_ vanquished, it will be time to begin the battle that has always been silently burning, the backdrop to so many motives misfired.

Fool to emotion as always, Thor adds the book to the pile and places them in Loki’s handmade rucksack, along with some beautiful items of varying value that Thor thinks his brother would like to have in his possession once more.

He wants to believe Loki is mentally well now, but he cannot be sure, particularly given all of the recent events. Perhaps physical reminders of home will be a good thing for Loki, or perhaps they will not be. Thor will try to help regardless.

As he travels down the rainbow bridge, admiring its colourful beauty, Thor allows himself to smile. Despite how his visit to Asgard went overall, he still misses his home greatly, and he is most pleased to witness even slithers of its magnificence restored. It is a bittersweet moment.

Heimdall protects the bifrost once again. Thor is thankful for this much too.

He’s also thankful that Odin still believes Loki to be de-aged. If the Allfather knew the truth, he would surely come to Midgard for vengeance.

“I have not told the King, for the King has not asked,” Heimdall says. “To tell at this moment would only permeate a reckless response, and I believe that there is no threat to Asgard.”

Thor breathes a sigh of relief he wasn’t aware of holding. But then, worry creeps back in. “I know I have no right to ask-”

Heimdall glares at him, eyes powerful and knowing. “He is the same soul who wreaked havoc across the stars. He is the same soul who sacrificed himself for you, the same soul who lied and murdered, who deceived and betrayed you while sat disguised upon the throne of Asgard. He deceived and betrayed _us all_ , taking great pleasure in it.” Thor bows his head in shame as the gatekeeper continues, expression slight as his tone changes.

“And though he will not openly state it, he is also the same brother who loves you more than anything else in the universe. The same soul who is incredibly vulnerable, incredibly volatile. Be careful how you proceed, Thor.”

Thor looks at him thankfully, before he’s transported back to Midgard in a blaze of light and energy.


	14. Saccharine Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a kindly-meant gesture, Thor accidentally betrays Loki’s trust. Something breaks between the brothers.  
> __________

Loki is walking around the bedroom, barefoot and deep in concentration when Thor returns from Asgard. He dismisses the various artefacts that Thor clearly thought he might have enjoyed to cast eyes on once more, merely raising an eyebrow and nodding. But when Thor gets the first book out of the bag, and it is _red_ — not grey, blue or green. Well. He knows _exactly_ what it is.

“How _dare_ you,” he spits, clutching the object from Thor’s hands before throwing it at him in a rage. “How— _how dare you_ take from my chambers possessions that you were not permitted to touch?”

“But brother, it _did_ have my name on it,” Thor smiles. Loki does not.

“Did you read it?” he throws Thor into the nearest wall, keeping him pinned. “ _Did you?_ ” of course, Thor could easily retaliate with stronger violence to the threat, he simply chooses not to.

“I read only one brief piece, I swear. The Kottrsnær entry, as the fates would have it,” Loki’s eyes widen at this revelation, but his grip remains the same on Thor’s neck, vicious and commanding. “Though, my brother, I do not need to read on any ciphered paper that which I already remember so vividly.”

Loki wonders if this reminder from his childhood is evil coincidence or coincidentally evil, as his brother remains still under his threat, eyes blue and enticing as they were on that damned day so long ago.

Then, Loki decides either way he does not care. Something has broken within him. He remembers just how he’d felt writing in that journal on that cursed day. How his face was burning with shame and regret — not just at the wrongness of it all, but at the notion of a missed opportunity to feel the true intent of his brother’s gaze; of what could have transpired if they had found the courage to meet their lips just a few seconds sooner.

It seems that this is one memory too much for him to bear.

“You may be sorry for your transgressions against me, _brother_ , but I am not.” And he kisses Thor — he kisses him with viciousness and greed, keeping him pinned to the wall as he plucks lips apart with his own, meeting a tongue hot and inviting and scraping keen against teeth.

Thor takes his hands from where they are around Loki’s wrists and wraps them around Loki’s neck instead, pulling him in just that little bit closer to devour his mouth with enough passion to send Loki weak at the knees, like a pathetic maiden.

 _No_ , Loki thinks, _he will not best me in this also_.

He breaks the kiss and pulls at Thor’s golden hair to allow better access to the wonderful expanse of his golden throat. _Why must it all be so damned golden?_ He laps at the flesh with broad strokes that bring forth the most sensual of moans from Thor’s mouth; and then he bites down with just enough force to draw perfect Aesir blood to the surface of skin, sucking and soothing little patches in turns.

He continues to bask in Thor’s sounds while he tears the luxurious red and blue fabric of Asgardian origin away to expose his brother’s stupendous body, dragging long fingers up his torso, admiring every muscled dip and curve. So entrancing it is, that he finds he must stop assaulting Thor’s neck just to catch his own breath and steady his balance.

Something Loki should never be allowed to touch. Not in _this_ way. He thinks of the snowy forest; of his brother’s eyes, glassy and imploring.

“This is a mistake,” Thor says gently while pulling away, _ever-honourable_ again now that he’s able to manage coherency between stuttering breaths.

“Oh, I _know_ ,” Loki replies, voice lilting in a bid to hide his own doubt and fear. “Delicious, isn’t it?”

Thor looks at him, eyes ultramarine against the pale blue backdrop of the wall. Ever as imploring. Instinctively, he strokes the back of Loki’s neck, making him shiver under the touch. And at once, Loki feels as adored and stripped bare under Thor’s gaze just as he had all those centuries ago in the forests of Vanaheim.

But then Loki is reminded of the night in Edinburgh, when Thor had tracked him down as though _he_ were prey to be hunted, ready to attack. To _kill_. More rage than love.

“You know, _a picture would last longer_ ,” he says now, goading his big brother with the same words used when he’d been de-aged to the body of his foolish youth. 

“Yes, it might,” Thor replies, taking the bait as his face twists into something more feral. “Though I do not need such an image that is already seared onto my mind's eye.”

Thor throws _him_ into the wall now, and Loki lets him. “Tell me, _brother_ ,” he gasps under the seductive assault, “had you _always_ wanted to fuck me when we were foolish and young, too stupid to know any better?”

“ _Enough_ —”

“When I would have followed you blindly to the ends of the realms?” Tears glass over furious green eyes now, engulfed suddenly with old emotion, “When you…when you thought us still of the _same blood_?”

Thor silences him with a cruel kiss that makes Loki whimper. He lets Thor rip from him the red hooded jumper that he’d grown accustomed to wearing — even after his body barely fitted it anymore, lets him tear the stylish Midgardian black denim from his legs as though his brother were tearing up a piece of paper out of his journal, lets Thor pull apart his underwear to reveal a hardened cock, jutting painfully against abdomen, swollen and begging for touch that Thor does not have the mercy to grant.

Instead, Thor removes what remains of his own clothing, exposing his own cock, hard, flushed and delicious. He then takes a sweeping glance at Loki’s naked body before he’s moving back against him, crushing with his bulk. Loki curses as Thor kisses at his throat and pins his wrists down, leaving him unable to touch. He also curses because he can feel Thor pressed against his thigh and he _knows_ now without any doubt that he must taste it, have it, be consumed by _it_ before the night is over.

This makes him feel irrationally angered.

Finding strength —from where, he knows not— Loki pushes Thor away once more. He will _not_ lose control, and he will not succumb to emotions he locked away long ago. There is too much at stake. Mostly, his pride. Thor looks wounded at the action.

“You would readily have me against this wall as though I am a _wanton whore_?” Loki accuses, voice strained and breath shrill.

“Loki…”

“As though we have not waited for centuries for this moment to inevitably—”

“ _Loki,_ ” Thor interrupts harshly, but then his face softens and he comes closer, framing Loki’s face with his hands. “My brother, _look_ at you.” He smiles right into Loki’s widened eyes. “You are so _beautiful_. And yet terrifying. And sometimes…sometimes, you are incredibly deluded. Make no mistake, Loki. I would do this in any way of your choosing now that we have come so far.”

Loki blinks rapidly, and heeds to Thor’s sensual kiss — a confirmation of truth where words may fail to suffice. And what is the use of it? Centuries, violence, regret; none of it seems to change a damned thing when it comes to a love that was always too strong to be vanquished.

“Take me against the wall,” Loki commands, as though he hadn’t already decided. “And make it rough, _brother_.”

And so he does. Loki squirms as Thor easily pushes him into the air, back propped against the wall, where he wastes no time in spreading Loki’s legs apart and allowing himself to bury his face awkwardly between buttocks, tongue lapping at the hole he finds there. Loki whimpers and writhes as the tongue pushes right in, strong and greedy and torturous.

He knots his fingers into blonde hair, and then finds he cannot stop the loud moan escaping his mouth when Thor swaps his mouth for his hand, thrusting two fingers with little regard for the tight muscle. Just as Loki desires.

Then, Thor uses his mouth to suck the head of Loki’s cock, but only for a brief few moments before he moans around it and then changes his mind, taking his fingers out of Loki and dropping him to the ground like an abandoned thought.

“Taste it,” Thor says, standing up so that his own hardness is right in front of Loki, flushed rose in colour and mouth-wateringly thick. “I can feel how much you desire to do so.”

And Thor is right — Loki wants his own pleasure seen to, but he also wants nothing more than to choke himself on the impressive girth of his brother. He wants to suck it and relish it and then be fucked by it, and may the Norns help him or curse him, he cares not. He really doesn’t.

Trembling with adrenaline, Loki wraps his hands around the base and takes what he can into his mouth. Thor makes a low growl and pushes gently, holding Loki in place with fingers loosely curled in his raven black hair. Loki builds up a rhythm, slick and quick and within moments, they’re both hopelessly moaning with each thrust.

“More,” Loki demands, pulling himself away after a while. “Fuck my mouth as though it were the tight heat you have craved everlong.”

Thor complies, pushing with such force into Loki’s mouth that the back of his head bangs flush against the wall with each of Thor’s thrusts, and his saliva trickles from mouth to chin, continuous flow. Loki wants Thor to come right there into the heat of his mouth, but Thor seemingly has more honour or restraint than that — _of course he would_ — and he pulls Loki to his feet instead, spreading long legs once more.

Loki wraps his limbs around Thor’s waist, and as Thor breaches the tight ring of muscle with the head of his cock, it permits a delicious sting for the both of them. Thor guides him onto it gradually, for that is the _only way possible_ , and when Loki is fully mounted, they both freeze and gasp for breath. For that too is the only way possible; Loki’s weight at such an angle is making the sensation even more intense. That, and Thor is big. _So big_. Loki’s body is pliant, but it is not practiced or properly prepared, so the fullness within him is mind-meltingly consuming… even for a god.

Thor holds him in mid-air like he is made from porcelain, all careful and reverent while Loki continues to adjust himself to the feeling. Once he stops puffing out little whimpers of air, Thor cranes his neck forward and claims his mouth. They kiss passionately, like a pair of lovesick fools.

So passionate and beautiful the kiss is, in fact, that Loki barely realises Thor is placing him onto the bed until he feels the cock jostle inside him when Thor bends down, looming over him as a beautiful sky would.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he says, almost choking at the sensation of being handled with such attention. In all of his centuries of life, his limited number of dalliances were never so affection-filled.

“I would rather have you on the bed instead,” Thor says in a commanding whisper. He offers no further explanation other than looking deep into Loki’s eyes.

“Saccharine fool.” He sneers in reply, but in his heart there is joy, and the sneer is wiped from his face anyway when Thor pushes three fingers into Loki’s mouth and begins to gently move his cock deep inside of him. Loki moans and wraps his tongue around the fingers, biting when Thor thrusts a little harder and faster.

After what feels like a torturous amount of time, Thor takes his saliva-slick fingers from Loki’s mouth and _finally_ wraps them around the neglected cock between them, purposefully dis-coordinating the movements with that of his other pace so that it feels particularly exquisite. And with his other hand, Thor caresses the sensitive flesh of Loki’s throat. Apparently unable to resist tasting the pale, cool skin there, he sucks ruthlessly with teeth and tongue as his thrusting becomes more ragged and brutal into Loki’s yielding, beautiful body.

And everything else be damned, now— _now_ there is no return; indeed it will be many hours before this is over. Loki quivers with both anticipation and terror at the thought. “Yes, _fuck me_ ,” he breathes as his first climax starts to pool in the pit of his stomach, colours of red, green and gold clouding his vision. “ _Claim me, brother_ —”

His mouth is a mixture of stuttered breathing and vulgar curses before Thor eventually devours it with his own, bringing Loki to eon-desired orgasm.

Saccharine fool indeed.

***

Sunlight cracks through a slither in the curtains. Thor has been watching the light enter the bedroom ever since his brother passed out from his seventh bout of all-consuming pleasure. Thor had counted each climax of course, because he is as full of pride and insatiability as the man who lies beside him, lithe and exhausted.

It terrifies Thor in the end, how easy it was. To jeopardise a lifetime of love and hatred shared with his brother.

One simple, passionate act.

Well, seven.

He doesn’t know yet whether or not it was the right action to take; giving into lust so readily. Judging by Loki’s expression when he awakes, neither does he.

Thor smiles as he sees fading bruises over pale skin, even though he knows such violence should not please him. “Are you well?” he asks, worried that perhaps he’d unwittingly harmed in his ardour. Loki’s eyes blaze like green fire, before his tongue goes slack in his mouth and he chooses careful words.

“I am fine,” he replies, voice oddly quiet as he turns his sight to the ceiling above. “Though…Though I do find myself somewhat perplexed.”

“How so?”

“Because,” Loki starts, feigning indifference in the way Thor knows is anything but. “Because, your ever-precious Midgard hangs onto its safety by a thread, and yet you choose to mount me for the entirety of the night instead of getting us closer to a solution.”

Thor had not forgotten. Nor did he have logic to justify the decision.

He had simply allowed selfishness to take over, uncontrollable after so many centuries once he’d gone beyond tasting the mouth of his own brother, long desired.

“I am sorry,” he offers, though for what he knows not.

“I am still very much _not_ sorry,” Loki barks back, snarling, before he pauses with thought and composes himself. “For it was merely a carnal act. That is all.”

Thor can see his brother building walls around emotions, saving face. Ever prideful.

“Brother, you know this not to be true.” Thor places his hand on cool skin, traces marks with his fingers. Their pride is always their downfall, and he will not have it anymore. “It could change everything between us, if we allow it.”

“Do _not_ call me brother.” Loki will not look him in the eye at all now. Instead, he gets out of the bed. Thor notes the slim line of his body, lean muscles— powerful and yet pliant. May the Norns help them both, because now he has felt his brother’s impossible body beneath him, he craves it further still.

“I am _aching_ ,” Loki says, agitated; purposefully changing his own subject. “Thanks to _you_. And there is much work still to be done in very little time. This is _also_ thanks to you.” He glares at Thor then. It’s a most appealing sight, even if it is tinged with malevolence. “So I am going to shower our sin away, prepare a speedy meal of sustenance, and then absorb myself into the magic that I am now apparently too weak or unpracticed to partake in.”

Thor does not correct the statement by mentioning that it was in fact _Loki_ who’d initiated their relations last night, nor does he say anything else in response to the obvious self-doubt regarding magical ability. He does follow him into the shower, however —catching his brother off-guard as water falls across his beautiful skin—turning him around and pulling him into a crushing and intimate kiss. Loki whimpers, melts into the touch out of instinct more than anything else. Thor pulls away eventually, but he keeps Loki’s face between his hands so that his eyes cannot evade him.

“I love you,” he says, and he vows to remind his brother of this fact more often. “Good to know,” Loki does his best to keep his emotions contained and his voice neutral. As though his heart isn’t currently pulled out and pounding in his brother’s golden palms. “Now go and prepare me some bacon. Lest you desire Midgard to perish in a preventable attack simply because my breakfast was not up to scratch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Okay, _now_ this fic has earned its Explicit rating. I do hope it was worth the wait.~~  
>  Thanks ever so much for reading. Feedback is, as always, very welcome!


	15. All But One Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s having a few problems coping with magic and emotions. A magpie turns up again.  
> __________

A magpie pecks on the bedroom window. The same magpie from all those weeks ago, Loki supposes. “Away with you, creature. I am trying to concentrate.”

Loki is alone in the room —books and bowls and plates scattered everywhere— having banished Thor from it after his oaf of a brother had presented him with an only partially sufficient breakfast. Well, he’d _claimed_ that was the reason. However, it was mainly due to the fact that they’d recently crossed a major physical boundary between one other in a most spectacular fashion, centuries in the making.

Seven times, was it? _Norns alive…_

Naturally, his mind is still reeling. There are so many questions that burn on his tongue, but he will control himself.

_Bit late for that, isn’t it?_

No, Loki _must_ control himself, because they have less than twenty-four hours now until _showtime_ … And Loki still has no clue.

His seidr is all over the place, for one thing. But this isn’t even his main worry. His main worry is that still, he _genuinely_ doesn’t know who threatens the realm of Midgard so mysteriously.

Is it Thanos, somehow returned from death? Loki had done _that_ trick himself enough times to realise that some beings are seemingly… unkillable. It is a harrowing thought indeed, and one that Loki does not wish to dwell on for too long, even with the imminent-danger permitting it so…

Perhaps is it Hela, calling a double-bluff? She had ample motive, after all. When she’d offered to restore Loki to his former body and power, this was most certainly not for Loki’s benefit alone. They’ve made a cruel team together in the past, and perhaps she was trying her hand at being a Trickster too…

No. Hela is many things, but as far as Loki knows her, she is straight-talking, and prideful to her word. Perhaps, then, it is _Mephisto_ , keeper of a different Hell? Loki had not had contact with this particular villain, though he was aware of his existence and powerful sorcery. Thor and the other Avengers believe Mephisto to be involved somehow, but to Loki, this just doesn’t make enough sense to warrant him the prime candidate.

It could even be Odin himself, mad with rage after almost losing everything. Stranger things could happen. The All-Father has been prone to fits of unjustifiable, merciless chaos before…

Or… or is it a completely new, completely different perpetrator that Loki knows not?

All of these notions seem plausible enough, and yet none of them sit right. It seems all he can do it ensure his seidr is as strong as it can be in the pitiful short time remaining.

Except that he cannot even mange this sufficiently; his _mind_ is all over the place.

The entire contents of the room floats in the air on his magical command, then crashes down with an angry thud.

Yes. Loki feels unsettled, to say the least.

And then there’s that damned magpie, looking at him through the window with a glint in its beady little eyes.

“Oh _fine, then_ ,” Loki concedes, pushing the window up and rooting in the drawer for some bird seed. Fleetingly, he thinks back to his magpie shapeshifting days. It has been a long while indeed, but this particular form was one of his favourites when he was new to magics and disguises.

It’s only when Loki pours the feed into his palm that he notices the bird is already pecking at the remnants of his discarded bacon sandwich.

“Well, you _are_ a clever bird, aren’t you,” he still offers the bird seed, and the magpie hops over and nips at his palm. “You know, you remind me of my youth. When I was more sneaky…When it was more mischief, and less…” The magpie stops having at the food and looks up at Loki, almost as if it can understand him. Dread suddenly swells in Loki’s stomach. “You’re… you’re not me, are you?”

_“Rawk.”_

The bird takes one more peck and ruffles his feathers before flapping away. All at once, Loki is enveloped into whiteness, pulled from his feet and the next thing he knows — he’s staring straight at his doppelgänger. Worse still, the obnoxious fool is unwise enough to wear a grin at Loki’s expense.

Loki feels immediately worried. He cannot remember exactly what transpired between this vaguely-familiar version of himself and he, all those months ago.

“Have you figured it out yet?” Strange-Loki says, casually, and this makes him even more vexed.

“ _Where am I?_ ”

“I’ll take that as a no, then. Pity. I thought you were a clever egg.” Loki huffs at this, because it is truly an unfair accusation most harmful to his ego. “The threat to your _Midgardians_. Or rather, your _brother’s_ Midgardians.”

Loki sighs. Maybe he _should_ have it figured out. “It could be… anybody. At least anybody who is a consummate seidrmadr. That kind of magical trace is left behind from an abundance of spells.”

“It is?”

“Oh, _as if you don’t know_ ,” Loki replies. If this Other-Loki is _anything_ like him, he knows his craft well enough. “And they have been clever enough to omit anything else that might give them up. It is a miracle that these stupid mortals are even _aware_ of a threat in the first place.” Not for the first time, Loki silently wonders who their informant is, and if they are trust-worthy at all.

“Aye, clever enough for all but one mistake,” Other-Loki says, twirling the blue orb bracelet around his wrist, “but it doesn’t matter anyway.”

Loki makes a rough sound in his throat, and shocks himself at the level he actually cares. _Of course_ it matters.

“How so?” he says, cooly.

“Because either way, you will be there to save the day,” Other-Loki smiles now, a little smug, but kind nonetheless. “Will you not?”

Loki. A hero… and not just in his own mind. He contemplates how this would feel.

“Perhaps,” he replies, still cooly. Not allowing himself to dwell on such sentiment. “Now, why have you brought me here? And why is my memory of you…fuzzy, to say the least.”

Other-Loki shrugs. “I dunno, just wondered if you had anything to share. And also, I…dunno.”

Suddenly remembering Thor and their recent escapade, Loki becomes paranoid. “Have you been stalking me?” he bites, pointing his finger at Other-Loki’s face as a warning. “Interfere not with my business!”

He is met with laughter. “You would do well to remember that it was _me_ who granted you this unique opportunity.”

Loki supposes he is right. Whatever happened in The Nothing on that fated day, Loki had willingly chosen to go there. He remembers that much at least. He relaxes his fist and paints a sneer. “True indeed, though I had not realised you’d be _quite_ so involved with my daily business. Or be able to pull me out of my own reality with such ease.”

“Well, call this a courtesy visit. Of sorts.” Other-Loki smiles then, hesitates. Smiles again, eyes crinkling at the side as he bites his bottom lip. “So then. Are you going to talk about the giant-sized ‘brother-fucking’ elephant in the room first, or shall I?”

He… he was watching. That scruffy imitation of him was _watching_ while he and Thor had been intimate. Classic Loki, different universe. Loki not only feels paranoid now, he also feels sick.

 _This_ is why he hates himself so much.

“You perverted—”

“Hark! He calls _me_ the perverted one.”

Loki would push him against the wall, but there are no such walls to do so. He grabs him by his scruffy coat instead, eyes wild.

“Calm down, would you! I am not here to judge. I am here to _help_.”

Loki lets go and stares down, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“I mean, come on. If there is anybody else across the dimensions capable of perhaps even remotely understanding your present and um, kinda incestuous predicament, that would be me.”

Loki supposes he is right. _Again_. But that doesn’t mean he wants to discuss it with him. Not for a single second.

“It’s under control,” he says lowly, still refusing to look up.

“Kinky. So you love him too?”

“Of course I—that’s none of your business _actually_ ,” Loki stares at Other-Loki now, unable to read his face. Damn it all — perhaps it _would_ be good to confide in a like-minded being. “I…I suppose I love him as much as he trusts me.”

“So, completely, then?”

“Well, I would not remain a cryptic lock for you to key away at if I were to answer that.”

Other-Loki smirks at this. “Y’know, it wouldn’t kill you to tell him once in a while,” he smooths out his ragged sleeves, “I’d tell my Thor all the time, if he were generous enough to share the sentiment. Though, ahem, let’s just say the _Unworthy Odinson_ cares not for me at this precise moment in universe-exploding time.”

“Thor does not love me,” Loki says, surprising himself again. “At least, not in the way he _thinks_ he does. He simply knows not what else to do with me, because everything else has failed miserably.”

“You are unfair to him.”

“Life is unfair.”

“True enough.”

Loki is becoming quite sick of the self-assessing-pyscho-analysis. He doesn’t like how this being can quite easily pick his emotions from him. It’s most unnerving. “Is this little pep-talk over now, you spiky-haired buffoon? Or would you put me through more painful tedium?”

“I am officially all pepped-out,” his alternate-universe-counterpart says as he swirls the blue bracelet around his wrist again, “and I won’t visit you again, so you need not worry about being clawed from your utterly unkempt bedroom by me in future. I plan to sever the lingering threads between you and I, as I have too much to do.”

Loki looks at him. Big stupid kind grin this oaf wears, as though he were _Thor_. He ought to remember just what being a Trickster means. Subtlety. _Grace_.

“Very well. I thank you, _Loki_. The Ex-Agent of Asgard from another universe.”

“And I thank you, _Loki_. The Despised Infinity War Turncoat in Disguise. May you continue to strive for redemption. I hope that you are wise enough to find it.”

Whiteness descends again. The next thing Loki knows, he is amidst the Midgardian Mess that he now calls his chambers. It is only then that he wonders how he remembered the ‘Agent of Asgard’ title he had given to his strange likeness.

***

Verity Willis stands, arms folded, _totally_ judging her BFF.

“Just for the record — and before you set me on fire with that gaze of derision, Verity… I _wasn’t_ playing the voyeur card. Loki’s emotions were so heightened last night, they _literally_ dragged me out of slumber.”

She tilts her head, purses her lips and folds her arms even tighter.

“Honest! Would I lie to you?”

“You would try. And you would fail,” Verity says, with extra sass, before loosening her arms and looking rather uncomfortable with her thoughts. She hesitates before she speaks again. “Sooo. Uhm. _That_ Thor and Loki. Uh…”

“Yup.”

“Oh. Do you—”

“Yup.”

“Oh.” She shrugs after a short while. “Well, I guess Gods be Gods, right?”

***

Loki sits on his bed. He is utterly exhausted, and there are but a few hours left to strengthen his seidr. Despite this, he keeps replaying the same sentence in his mind…

_“Aye, clever enough for all but one mistake…”_

What did the other strange Loki _mean_ by that?

And suddenly, it hits him. The planned date. The ‘anniversary of.’

The culprit must be somebody who takes things personally. Perhaps someone who likes a show… It is not a comprehensive answer, but it will have to suffice. Loki opens his green book and flicks through the pages with a precise wrist.

Thor knocks at the door. Loki sighs. He does not want to see him, think of him, be anywhere remotely near him for fear of how it will make his mind implode. “Brother, can we have words?”

Thor does not wait for a response before he enters the room and sits beside him. He looks as exhausted as Loki feels. “I am concerned for you.”

“Why would you say that?” Loki asks, body language dismissive as he picks up a tome and pretends to read it.

“For many reasons. You have been through much change, brother. And then, there is last night…”

“Thor,” Loki says, attempting a threat, but his words feel thick in his mouth. “I am fine.”

“ _You are not_ ,” his brother counters, looking kindly into his eyes. Loki feels like he wants to scratch out his own soul. “Please, Loki. Share your troubles with me.”

Green eyes well up now, with tears that are too stubborn to fall. “ _I can’t,_ ” is all he can manage to say, staring vacantly at the book and pretending like Thor isn’t there looming beside him like the embodiment of hope, sculpted golden. Thor takes the book from him and closes it over.

“I think, my clever brother, that you have read enough for now.” He brushes loose strands of hair from Loki’s face, then lets his hand rest at the nape of Loki’s neck. “Whatever will come of tomorrow, I have no doubt that you have tried your utmost in this, Loki. Remember too, that the burden is not to fall on your shoulders alone.”

Loki blinks rapidly, then closes his eyes and parts his lips as Thor leans in to kiss him. It is a beautiful thing, filled with adoration. Slow, sensual. Patient.

“Thank you,” Loki breathes when the kiss ends, folding his head into the warm nook of Thor’s neck. It feels like a home much longed-for. “My brother.”

Thor wraps arms around him in a loose embrace, gently stroking his hair. They stay like this, utterly lost in each other, for a short while.

“Come now,” Thor says eventually, voice mild as he brushes various items from the bed and pulls the sheets up towards them. “We have an uncertain, testing day ahead of us. Let us sleep.”

Loki, both mentally and physically exhausted, is all too happy to comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Also, would like to mention that I've just [changed my username on Tumblr](http://ikoliholic.tumblr.com), if any of you care to find me swimming over on those waters.


	16. The Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threat arrives.  
> __________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long and significant chapter plot-wise, so it might take a bit of slow reading. It certainly took some slow writing! Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy <3

The time has come.

Loki, by some miracle, can now manage to render himself invisible as necessary. It takes up a great deal of his concentration however, and the spell will not last for as long as he and Thor would like it to. He isn’t even unsure if it’s accomplished enough to deceive whichever sorcerer awaits…

In short, Loki feels incredibly vulnerable.

Worse still, summoning it with his seidr was proving too energy-draining, so he doesn’t even have his own armour — meaning if things _do_ start to go wrong, he will find himself ill-prepared. Instead, he wears an assortment of Thor’s spare garments. They are too big for him, of course, hanging off his slimmer frame in a hodgepodge of red, silver and blue.

All of this considered, he feels truly like an imbecile, but Thor looks at him with approving eyes. “My colours suit you well, brother.”

Despite the impending seriousness, Loki scoffs. He thinks back to the days not so long ago when he was de-aged; the beloved, too-small red hooded jumper, the unruly hair, black eyeliner and nail varnish. How his brother had coveted him so.

He walks over to the same mirror, and notes how his hair falls loose and long around his face once more, but now against an older face; the way Thor creeps up behind him, grabs at his hips and whispers into his ear.

“I would quite like to remove these garments from you when this battle is over.”

“You are _not_ aiding my concentration, brother.”

Thor gives a gentle chuckle, kissing into the hair-covered nape of Loki’s neck. “Forgive me. I will distract you no further,” he turns Loki around, suddenly sombre. “Do you feel prepared enough?”

“Prepared as ever I will be, I am sure,” Loki replies, before offering a small smile. “Though I must confess I feel an utter fool in your oafish cast-offs.”

Thor looks mildly offended, but then he returns the gesture, baring his teeth. “Well. Let us hope that you don’t need to make use of the fine hand-me-downs, then.”

Loki steps back a little, and nods. “I will stay close, brother.” He casts the invisibility spell, so Thor grins when thin air says, “try not to accidentally punch me, if you can help it, oaf.”

***

Thor can feel his brother’s magic.

He became more attuned only _after_ Loki had betrayed him so many times, so it is not something that he feels wholly happy about, however useful it may prove to be.

His mind fleetingly drags him back to when Loki was a prisoner of Asgard. Mother had told him of Loki’s delusions, and he had seen it for himself, mesmerisingly convincing, utterly heart-breaking…

But there is no use in dwelling over such outdated sentiment now. Thor has faith in his brother to succeed in this today. They know not of the threat, and perhaps Loki’s sorcery is not at the level of impressiveness it once was, but what he may lack in certain skill now, Thor thinks that he makes up for in other ways. He seems to be less emotionally volatile, for one, and perhaps that is the price that must be paid for a lesser magic.

Some of the streets are eerily empty and quiet. Every now and again, they pass wide, blank screens, installed for war purposes to aide with mass communication. Indeed, with these devices, the influence of S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers, made stronger by a thing called _social media_ , some attempts have been made at evacuating New York City.

The perpetrator had left explicit and confusingly helpful instructions to ensure the city was completely empty for the planned attack, save for anybody who was wishing to ‘fight among chaos amid uncertain loss of life.’ Despite this warning, many citizens had defiantly wished to stay regardless. While Thor did not like this, he also admired the mortals’ resilience.

With Loki invisible by his side, he reaches the remains of Avengers’ Tower, where he’s expecting to meet the rest of the team. They are there as agreed, along with the Warriors Three. Thor is surprised to see them, and he senses Loki’s surprise also.

“My friends, what are you doing here?”

Sif smiles at him, but he notes that there is also anger in it. “The All-Father has sent us to assist. He said that you had requested us…”

“I asked for help, but I thought that he’d refused it.”

“Ah,” Hogan chirps, “it seems that you were wrong in this also.”

“Where is Loki?”

Thor feels the air around him tense. “Loki is gone.”

Sif eyes him with suspicion. He never was a good liar. “But your father had said that Hela—”

“Please,” Thor interrupts, pulling Sif close into a false-embrace and whispering, “speak not of Loki at this moment.” She silently implores him, but then heeds, nodding her head while her eyes still convey disapproval. Meanwhile, Volstagg is talking heartily to Scott Lang about _burritos_ , and Fandral is practicing hand-to-hand combat with Natasha. It is a surreal moment, out of place given the seriousness of their meeting.

“Skilled indeed, for a mere mortal!” he says. She gets him into a headlock and pulls him easily to the ground, clearly unimpressed at his praise.

“Please! _Enough_.” Thor commands.

Natasha smirks, and then her face goes deadly serious once more. “Yeah, let’s save our juice for whatever the hell’s gonna be crashing down here any minute now.”

Suddenly, the team are startled; there’s a huge puff of smoke in the air. Armed and ready and on edge, the Avengers seem somewhat ambivalent when it turns out to be Doctor Steven Strange.

Lang is the first to acknowledge him. “Hey, you strange son of a gun. Where the hell you been?”

“Cambodia.”

“Called it!”

Natasha elbows Lang out of her way and squares up to Strange. “We’ve been trying to contact you for over two weeks. This is _serious_.”

Strange does not bat an eyelid. He simply smiles and points his fingers in agreement. “Well, I _know_ it is serious. I’ve had my cloak and amulet stolen.”

“We _already know_ …”

“Must have been a masterful sorcerer. I was quite annoyed, Natasha. But at the very least, I still have my orb. And the knowledge that if I ever find them, they will pay _immensely_.”

“You’re not gonna have to wait too long for that…”

Strange ignores the comment, ignores every other Avenger and Warrior and instead turns his attention to Thor. “Hello. Long time no see, old chap.”

Thor smiles, uncertain. He is familiar with Strange from The War of Infinity, but any familiarity beyond that is beyond him.

“Thor, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you are aware that a being, who appears to be your presumed-dead, adoptive brother, is presently —and rather crudely, may I add— glamoured invisible beside you, wearing a rather odd, recycled combination of what one surmises to be your own attire?”

Strange casts a spell and Loki becomes immediately visible, attempts to run away, but in the surprise is easily pinned down by an extremely angered Sif, blade to his throat.

“Betrayer!” she shouts, bloodthirsty, and only holds back from harm when Thor’s roar demands it of her. “Why do you wear Thor’s colours? You are not worthy of them.”

“Aye,” Fanrdal says, pointing his blade. “ _Turncoat_. Scum of the Realms…”

Loki laughs beneath Sif’s fierce grip.

“You think this _funny_?”

“No, Sif,” he says sadly, “I had simply forgotten how hated I am by my own people.”

“You are not one of us, _Jotunn_ ,” Volstagg sneers. “ _Betrayer_. We would have you slain at our King’s command.”

“You will not!” Thor grabs Loki from under Sif, and waves Mjolnir threateningly toward his friends. “If you lay a finger on him, you will have to answer to me.”

“You have gone mad,” Sif implores. Thor shakes his head in anger.

“Odin does not know the full story.”

“ _You_ have betrayed Asgard too, Thor,” Hogun says, voice low and disapproving, “abandoning it when it has been in such dire need of repair.” The accusation stings at Thor’s very soul, but he does not relent.

“Would you tell us?” Sif asks, “the full story, that is?”

“All that is important right now is that Loki is changed-” Thor says, but he’s still met with nothing but angry faces, “and that his magical abilities make him imperative to this mission.”

“Typical. Always thinking about this world over any other.”

“Always thinking about _Loki_ over any other…”

“These people are in danger, and they would benefit from your assistance,” Thor says. “Please, friends. I am truly sorry for letting you down, but do you forget the events of Ragnarok, or all that I had done during the war so easily? Simply because I could not bear to witness our crumbling home squabble over insignificant issues, simply because I longed to see the progress of my other home—”

“You have but one home, Thor.”

Thor growls in frustration. “Let us argue over this another time. I have made many mistakes, and I do not expect forgiveness for them all. But please, you must understand why Loki’s life is to be spared.”

“I will _never_ understand why you think a life such as his should be spared,” Hogun shakes his head.

“Because he is my _brother_. And it is not yours to take.” None can argue with that. Of all the people Loki has betrayed, he has betrayed none more so than Thor.

“How can you defend him when he has done such wrong, Thor?” Sif says anger freshened as she looks down at Loki’s face. “A coward beneath my assault — he did not even try to defend himself like any warrior would—”

“He is changed.”

The Avengers are unhappy too. Before _they_ begin to reason with Thor, he turns to them. “My friends, I am truly sorry for the deception,” he begins, grip still a tight hold on his brother. “But it was my idea and mine alone. Loki is an asset to our team, and he wishes to help us. Please. You must trust me.”

They eye Loki with suspicion. Especially Natasha. “If you wish to help us, then why the disguise?”

Loki looks at her skeptical face. “Because you all hate me, do not trust me, and wish ill upon me for all that I have done.” Nobody argues with _that_.

“Like I said, it was _my_ idea,” Thor reasons. “And we do not have time for this.”

Lang quirks his eyebrow, checks his watch and shrugs his shoulders. “So uh, now we have two accomplished sorcerers, and little under seven minutes left ’til a freaky magician’s gonna come and mess stuff up, yup?” They all look at Lang. “Well, shall we all just maybe make friends now, and maybe fight later?”

Strange takes one look at Loki. They assess each other with equally menacing gazes.

“I’ve heard about you. And I don’t like you _at all_ , Laufeyson.”

Loki snorts. “Anybody who calls me by the name _Laufeyson_ clearly does not know me well enough to make such a fleeting assessment,” he says, circling the doctor. “But believe me when I say that the feeling’s mutual, _Strange_.”

“Fair answer,” Strange says, giving a crooked smile. “Now. What are your strengths, Odinson?”

Thor flinches as Loki gulps down displeasure at _that_ name too. “I am highly skilled in _many_ practices of seidr. Shape-shifting, energy blasts, illusion casting and molecular re-arrangement being among my favoured practices. Though at present,” Loki reluctantly confesses, “I am much weakened. I know not why.”

“Hmm. Well, _I_ am proficient in—”

“All of it,” Loki interrupts, shaking his head. “I know of your powers, Strange. Do not insult my intelligence. For a mortal, you are quite something.”

Strange narrows his eyes. “And what of this threat, then?”

“I’ve been studying accordingly. The _Midgard intelligence_ implied that counter spells for mass telekinesis and astral projection may be advantageous. I have a tome containing old incantations that perhaps even _you_ may not know.”

“I doubt it,” Strange says, and Thor remembers why he has never enjoyed his company. “Now, why would such a villain want my amulet and cloak?”

Loki snorts again. “Because what sorcerer would _not_ care for such items? It is obvious. It means that they can fly through the air with minimal effort required, and if they were to cast an illusion, _you_ could not see through it and consequently dupe them into revealing their true identity.” _Much like you just did with me, but only because my illusion was so poor_ , Loki doesn’t add.

“But why should that _matter_?”

“Because that is the way of the villain!”

“Why then, did they not steal my orb too?” Strange’s orb means he can see anywhere in the multiverse. Loki thinks for a while before he replies.

“Perhaps they have no use for it.”

“And why here, why on this specific date?”

Loki looks to the ground now, and replies lowly. “I do not know.”

A sense of dread suddenly pits in Thor’s stomach… as the sky darkens around them.

***

There is a huge crack of light in the air, then on the large screen atop the building, a face appears. The slack mouth turns into a toothy grin.

“Hello. Remember me?”

It is Loki. A much older version, but still undeniably _him_. In full regal wear, plus a lavish fur cloak woven with red and green hues. His horns are so big that they are almost quite comical. His face is wrinkled and old, eyes filled with green fire as his face twists into the cruelest of grins.

Thor is horrified. _Loki_ is horrified… Everyone is horrified.

“I mean, I’ve picked up a few crow’s feet, but that’s to be expected when you’re a king from a defunct future,” the figure reasons, waving his staff about as though it is naught but a play toy. His eyes light up as he looks through the screen, and then projects himself into the air, shimmering in the sky. “For any of you dimmer fools who haven’t got it yet… I am the unknown threat, and I would slay you all in your dreams.”

Upon hearing the noise, scores of remaining civilians have poured onto the streets. Thor notices that the projection of Loki appears on each screen in the distance that he can see, an endless supply of evil and chaos.

“ _Mortals_ ,” King Loki scoffs, removing his giant cloak which dissolves into the air to reveal Strange’s cape around his shoulders instead, as he floats with ease.

Strange notices that his amulet hangs around King Loki’s neck, and he flies into the sky to threaten him. “That is _mine—_ ” he swipes at him using a potent cast, but King Loki’s laughing face simply dissolves and reappears tenfold, crushing Strange back down to the ground and casting a spell on him that renders him powerless.

“I would _not_ disturb me if I were you,” he threatens, haughtily. “I have been waiting for this speech for quite some time. Now, where was I?”

Strange looks over towards the Loki on the ground, who still looks dumbfounded.

“Ah yes. _Mortals_ , with your fragile minds. You know nothing of what it is to carry burdens, nothing at all, with your tiny little lives…”

S.H.I.E.L.D begins its offensive tactics now; King Loki shot at, but the bullets simply pass straight through the projections. One hits its target eventually, but the master of the illusion is protected by a fierce glow of magic. He lands atop the building, formidable.

“I _really_ wouldn’t do that either.”

He attacks the weaponry with seidr, and the bullets turn to dust. Then, he struts around the rooftop like he owns the place. “Avengers, Midgardians, Warriors Three. My quarrel is not with you.”

And Loki has stood and watched dumbly for as long as he can. He knows that wherever this creature comes from, it is _he_ that must put a stop to the madness.

“Loki, _no_ ,” Thor tries to stop him, but it is too late. Loki is jumping up the side of the building towards the terrifying older version of himself. Thor follows him, but Loki is too quick.

The Ant-Man is the only other Avenger stupid enough to join Loki in an attempt to attack, impressively bounding to the rooftop in half of the time it takes Thor or Loki, and King Loki captures him into a tiny vacuum that he cannot escape from.

When Loki reaches the top, King Loki holds Lang in the air. “Do we like this one?” he asks, giving him a little shake. Loki freezes. “Oh, we _do_ , don’t we? He has spirit. And nobody likes him, because he’s an idiot. Reeeelatable, eh.”

Thor follows seconds later. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands.

“Ugh. Rebuilt universe, and yet _always_ a killjoy,” King Loki bemoans, tossing Lang across for Thor to grab. “Be gone with you all. You’re all fools.”

Loki has had enough. He goes to swing at him with his bare hands, but it turns out that even this version of King Loki is an illusion that completely vanishes in a fit of laughter. Then, on the giant screen, on every screen in fact — appears yet another Loki, now almost identical to Loki himself. Except this face stretched across the screen is filled with sorrow, physically etched with cuts and bruises as it had been during the Infinity War. He looks somehow older and yet younger at the same time. Tired. Gaunt. Heartbroken.

Loki is shocked and disgusted at it. He had not realised he’d looked so forlorn.

Thor looks up, and hardly recognises him. His guilt washes over like a wicked storm shower reminding him just how bedraggled Loki had become. They both glare at each other, the silence between brothers speaking a thousand different words all at once. Thor throws the small vacuum containing Lang over to Loki, who grabs it with ease, mouth parted to speak.

But then another voice echoes across the sky, and it is that of a more despondent soul.

“One year.” Loki recognises the heartbreak in his own voice and can hardly bear to listen. “ _One year_ to the day that the war was finally won. And what is in a day? Quite a lot, it would seem. It would be such my luck that a War of Infinity would end almost _precisely_ at the same time that I’d finally cowered away. All I needed to do was endure but a few hours more. How very fitting, after a _lifetime_ of torture…”

Thor puts a hand to his own mouth in disbelief, as the tragic sight of his brother continues.

“But I had left, forced to seek out another story. Would you know why?” he asks, rhetorically of course. The message appears to be pre-recorded. “Because I am Loki! That’s why!” Tears threaten to fall across the injured face now, wretched with anguish. “Destined to only ever be despised, even by those whom I loved. By _all_ of the realms, monster that I am. I wanted to change — I _did_ change, tried to help you mortals, tried to help everybody — and yet, where did it get me? Nowhere. What did it get me? Nothing. Quite _literally_.”

Thor turns to look at Loki now, who is clamouring for breath.

The Loki on the screen turns bitterer still. “So here I am, intimidating you through your precious _technology_. And I may or may not have fragments of certain Infinity Gems hidden up my sleeve. Take a guess, cleverer fools among you. You’re getting warm with _time_ and with _reality_. I’d have preferred mind and power, but y’know, evidently we can’t have everything in this world that we _desire_ …

I could ruin your entire existence. _Destroy it all._ What do you think I’ll do? Thor. My mighty brother. What do _you_ think I will inflict upon your precious, favoured realm? For you abandoning me, betraying me when I needed you most?”

The screen starts to float in mid-air around a puff of smoke. It would be amusing perhaps in a different context.

“Would I send the Destroyer, to claim your life and ransack a petty little town? Would I fall into darkness; make dicey deals of death in desperation, with the most putrid scum in existence? Send armies, ransack floating fortresses, wreak havoc on a city? On an entire _world_?”

“Loki, _no_ …” Thor says again, wielding his hammer and flying up to meet the projection. Thunder rumbles in the sky, and everybody else stares on, powerless.

“Or maybe something a little closer to home. How about another Ragnarok, brother? Perhaps this time, with a little less _Hulk_ , and a little more finesse, hmm? The options at my disposal are limitless. So, _Son of Odin_ , what do you think I’ll do?”

Thor looks down at _his_ Loki for an answer, finding him still gobsmacked and terrified. The screen disappears then, and in the air floats the bedraggled turncoat apparently in the flesh, wounded in both body and mind almost beyond repair. Thor longs to reach out and touch him, but fears that his hand would pass straight through.

The booming voice becomes just one small soul, and the other screens go blank white into nothing once more. “I will forgive you, Thor,” he reaches a pale, bloodied hand out, and to Thor’s dismay and pleasure, it presses solid against his cheek, curious with its caress. “For I have changed. You would already know this, would that you have _listened_.” Green eyes well up, blink back tears. “I do not have any fragments of Infinity, nor do I desire a throne to grow wicked upon alone. More than anything, I do not wish to let the evil mistakes from my past repeat my future. Curse the Norns, curse Ragnarok and Infinity, curse it all. _I_ am to rewrite my story. Perhaps you will never forgive me. Perhaps _none_ of you will. The only question that matters is this…”

“ _Loki…_ ”

“How will I ever forgive _myself_?”

Thor reaches his own hand out to grip at his battered and defeated brother, but it’s too late. The crazed villain is gone.

“Oh,” is all that Loki says, below on the rooftop. Then, he disappears in a cloud of seidr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks ever so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think of this chapter if you have the time to spare, either through comments or [Tumblr](http://ikoliholic.tumblr.com)... 
> 
> Also, I’d like to mention that I’ve revisited all of the previous chapters and made some very minor edits. Obviously nothing plot-based, I just tightened up some dialogue snippets, re-proofed it, and sorted out a couple of formatting issues. I was so keen to start posting in the first place that I’d ignored these things, but upon re-reading I just *had* to sort it.


	17. In My Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after the events in New York City, Thor searches for Loki.  
> __________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bruiser of a long chapter here... ~~sorrynotsorry cos the last half was waaaay fun to write :D~~

Loki manages twelve days of evasion before Thor finds him.

“ _Impossible_ ,” says Steven Strange, straight after Loki’s disappearing act. While floating in the air with his returned cloak, amulet around his neck, focusing intently on the spherical object in his hands. “I simply don’t know _how_ he managed to disappear as such. My orb cannot find him. Impossible.” Thor stares dumbly at Strange, hopeless, racking his own brain for a clue for what to do next. “And my orb can find _everything_.”

Thor’s friends want answers that he cannot give to them.

He knows that the Midgardians are humane, and will likely not hurt Loki unless he attacks. So first he turns to the Warriors Three, because their idea of capture is slightly different. “If you find him,” Thor says, “promise me that you will not hurt him. He is not a threat.”

“If he attacks,” Sif says, though taking little pleasure in it, “I will slit his throat.”

“He will not.” Thor affirms before he walks away.

The first place he searches is, rather aptly, New York City. He roams around the apartment and its vicinity, then everywhere close-by that partakes in fine coffee and grilled meats. Having no luck, he even pays the zoo another visit.

The snow leopards stare at him knowingly, unnervingly. He tries not to think of the ill-fated _Kǫttrsnær_ and its fierce green eyes.

After New York, Thor travels to Asgard, where he is met with nothing except condescension and indifference; as though he would expect anything less.

“If _I_ find him first,” Odin warns, “he will be trialled for his crimes against Midgard, unless somehow disproven.”

“There was no bloodshed, father.”

“But there was _intent_.”

Thor feels his voice rising, along with his temper. Knowingly expecting something does not always make it easier. “You cannot prove that any of this was Loki’s fault.”

Odin shakes his head in derision. “He returns through sorcery from a defunct future, and _still_ you pander to him? Enough! If you find him Thor, you are to bring him back to Asgard for trial and retribution.”

“For an inevitable threat of execution? _Never_.” Thor’s eyes blaze now, and his voice roars. “You would have to kill me first!”

“Do not tempt me, my son.” Odin says sadly, with only a little rage. “Now leave. Abandon us once more for your own selfish whims.”

When he’s at the grand observatory awaiting Heimdall’s return to get back to Midgard, Thor is instead summoned to Hel — which is no meagre feat, even for Thor. Hela always carries an air of terror around her, as should be expected for the Goddess of Helheim.

She coldly tells him of how a King Loki from an apparently defunct future came to her, with a bribe regarding Mephisto and a certain younger, more foolish Loki Laufeyson. Or rather, _Odinson_ , due to his ill memory…

She also speaks to Thor of how this young, foolish Loki refused to take any bait that she offered. Sorcery, power, deception. None of it. How _she_ has been left out of pocket from the whole affair, and how she will ensure Loki do her a favour as soon as she lays hands on him.

“I have not the time to actively search, but if _you_ find him first,” she threatens, “tell him that he owes me.”

Thor does not yield to the threat. “He owes you nothing, Hela. Blame this so-called _King Loki_ for any deception or misfortune caused.”

“King Loki _is_ Loki,” she spits, “or are you blinded still by your _brotherly_ affections?”

“King Loki is naught but an illusion,” Thor growls, before composing himself and making his way up the steps to her throne, to reason with her as an equal. “And it seems, so was the very mention of Mephisto in the first place. You should never accept bargains from cruel sorcerers that occupy realms outside of our own. Surely after everything, we _all_ know this.”

Hela snarls, but she also heeds. “Quite.”

Thor takes pity then. Hela is a powerful god, filled with pride. To have accepted such a bribe in the first place indicates that she is clearly weakened from the war. “If you are in dire need of repairs, you must speak with the All-Father. He would help you.”

“ _He_ has put Helheim so far down on his list of priorities that it may well be the next Ragnarok before this realm is in any acceptable state.”

Thor feels another stab of guilt at this. But he must focus on one problem at a time. Right now, his priority is Loki.

“In due course, I promise to help you, Hela,” he says, bowing his head in respect, “that is, only if _you_ find Loki first — you bring him to me, unharmed and unthreatened.”

She gives the faintest of smiles, and hesitates for a moment.

“Perhaps you two have switched personalities, _silvertongue._ ”

“Do we have a deal?”

She nods in reluctant agreement.

After the impromptu visit to Helheim, Thor then returns to Midgard once more. This time, he tries the other side of the Atlantic ocean. Edinburgh is as beautiful as he remembered — from the Castle grounds, to the walk down the Royal Mile toward the fated tree in Holyrood Park. It brings back recent memories like a stab to the gut. Thor can sense Loki is close, but both Odin’s and Hela’s words have worried Thor too much for him to be thinking straight, so he returns back to New York City, soaring through the air with Mjolnir to the Warriors Three once more.

They have not ventured far; still scouring the city to no avail. Thor reminds them to go against the All-Father’s command and keep Loki safe if they are to find him.

“We do not trust him,” Sif says, “but the All-Father has been… tired and spiteful of recent.” She looks firmly at the ground.

“Aye,” says Volstagg. “The fact we’re here still instead of back on Asgard speaks volumes enough.”

Sif shoots Thor an emotional yet guarded look. “He would perhaps act differently if _you_ were to bring Loki to him instead.” She sighs loudly. “So perhaps you are right.”

And this is enough to satisfy Thor’s worry. He bids his friends farewell, returning to his New York apartment once more. He scours it again for clues, then he finds something that he did not think of before…

So it is. A little cave, in a place called Scaw.

A few hours later and Thor is back in Scotland, searching around desolate, beautiful lands. He has a map of Scaw, but it’s pretty much useless to him. Instead, he allows the traces of his brother’s magic to guide him. It gives him hope.

He feels drawn to a little isolated shop. There’s a little sign on the front that reads ‘Mrs. Andarson’s’. The old woman inside the place… she looks vaguely familiar. The idea of it breaks Thor’s heart. Something about her kind blue eyes. Perhaps it’s a coincidence, perhaps it’s not…

“Do you know of any caves in this area that are habitable?” he asks, trying not to stare too intently.

“Och, I don’t think so,” she says, voice soft. “Not fer a big ol’ strappin’ lad such as yaeself. Yer mammie must’ve fed ye well when ye were a wee boy.”

He smiles. She’s kind. Eyeing up the confectionary on offer, he pulls out some currency. He has not eaten in days. “May I buy some of these?” he asks, picking up a fistful of sweets.

Mrs .Andarson quirks her grey-brown eyebrows. “We don’ normally take money like that ‘ere.” Then, she sighs gently and smiles sweetly. “But fer ye laddie, I’ll make an exception.”

Thor is grateful, and he is polite. He would ask her is she aware of Loki’s whereabouts, but he senses it already. He can feel his brother’s presence, and he will just have to search every cavern of this island until he finds him. Indeed, Thor need not ask the kind woman any further questions, but one presses on his tongue regardless as she places his items into a carrier bag.

“What is your name?”

“Mrs. Andarson, o’ course,” she says, before pausing. “But ye can also call me Frigga.”

No coincidence, perhaps. Thor smiles once more. “I thank you for your time, Frigga.”

As he heads for the door, Frigga Andarson asks him a question.

“Ye havnae seen a boy on yer travels by any chance? A young lad named Lachlan.” Thor turns around, face blank. “Wee Lockie. Black hair, wee bit scruffy. Always on his own. Havnae seen him fer a good while now, an’ I’m worried about him.”

“He is my brother,” Thor says finally, with a genuine warmth in his voice. “And you need not worry, kind lady. I will always protect him.”

As Thor closes the door, Mrs. Andarsan sheds a tear of relief she did not know she was harbouring.

***

Thor reaches the entrance of the cave, where he sees a familiar looking magpie. It speaks to him, tells him some things that he did not know.

Loki sits on his old bed, sulking. Looking far too big for it.

“I have been all over the universe trying to find you, Loki.” Thor says when he finally finds the hidden little cavern. He’d be angrier, if he wasn’t so relieved that he’d managed to locate Loki before anyone else had.

“Well, I wasn’t _supposed_ to be found,” Loki huffs, twirling at one of the bedsheets. Thor sits down on the bed beside him and grabs his hand. “I have brought you some food.”

Loki eyes it begrudgingly. He has always had a sweet tooth, Thor knows all too well. Stubbornly, he picks up some caramels and unwraps them. Thor waits until he has finished eating five of the sugary treats before he speaks.

“My brother. Why did you run away?”

Loki stops sucking and his mouth turns into a tight line. He chews at the caramel and swallows audibly. It takes a long time for him to finally admit it. “I was scared.”

In all of their years together, Thor cannot recall a single instance where his brother has told the truth about being scared of something.

“I remember few things of the fraudulent life I left behind in this cave before you found me in Edinburgh, Thor.” Loki adds, twiddling at the multicoloured sheets once more. “It seems that I cannot fully remember one story without forgetting the other — such a wicked design that only a puppeteer with strings for the declination of myself could conjure.” He scoffs at himself now. “I am only fortunate that it consumed months, and not years.”

Thor places a hand on Loki’s shoulder. Loki shrugs it off gently before continuing.

“I remember waking up in tears and burning every story I read, though.” He laughs bitterly. “A bad omen, I am sure.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Newspapers. Like Midgardian daily journals,” Loki says, “and given the timeframe, I presume you must have featured somewhat prominently.”

“And you still did not remember me?” Thor asks, trying not to let the hurt in his soul reach his voice. Loki does not reply. His eyebrows are knotted together, and he stares at the multicoloured string of lightbulbs adorning the wall. Then, Thor notices the shine on his face. “My brother, you are crying.”

Loki brushes his own check with fingertips. “Oh,” he says casually. “Yeah. I am.”

Thor pulls him into an embrace. Loki does not furl into it as desired, but he does continue to speak from the heart, and that is enough.

“I am not a bad person, Thor. At least I don’t think I am. Or I don’t mean to be.”

Thor strokes his hair. “You are _Loki_ ,” is all that he says in reply.

“My magic is returned,” Loki mumbles into Thor’s shoulder now, before pulling away from his brother’s warmth. “Stronger than ever, in fact. And yet I have never felt so utterly powerless.”

Thor smiles at him now. Loki scowls. “Does my misery amuse you?”

“Of course not, brother. It’s just that you have never been so open with me.”

Loki scowls again. Thor pulls photographs out of the bag that Loki had constructed. “I know you looked at these pictures, on that day when you stayed in the apartment. I _knew_ you remembered more than you were letting on, that your memories were trickling in.”

Loki looks at the shimmering images, face totally unreadable as Thor continues. “Perhaps I should not have forced you to Yggdrasil… Perhaps I should not have acted upon other desires too. But I was persuaded to, by—”

“Speak not of it!” Loki shouts, throwing the images onto the floor with sudden rage and shoving at Thor. “I do not want your damned guilt, you idiot. I carry enough of my own.”

“You lied to me, Loki,” Thor says, face flushed red like the patchwork silk sheet beside his hair. “When you disappeared from our bed that night. I knew you were lying, because I _watched_ you vanish from it. Dragged away by a seidr I know not of.” He sits up as Loki rises from the bed and paces the floor.

“It was… It was Hela.” Loki finally admits. “And I did not know if it was real, or all a dream. That is the truth.”

“Oh Loki, if only you’d have _told_ me.” Thor stands up and reaches his arms out.

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” Loki spits, eyes glassy. “Leave me be.”

“Never.” Thor swears, but he does not touch him. “I said _never_ back when I found you, and I will not be persuaded otherwise simply because you say so now.”

“Even if I try to slit your throat?” Loki wagers, but there is not enough malice in it.

Thor smiles. “ _Especially_ if you try to slit my throat.”

Loki sighs. His threats are futile, so instead he tries the next best technique: deflection. “How did you find me here?”

“While I was searching for you in New York, for clues — for _anything_ , I read pages from your book. The _red_ book. There was a story about when we visited the forbidden caverns of Svartelheim together.”

Oh, how they’d fought. Loki had ran away immediately afterward, to a place near Norway, called Scotland. Thor had no idea Loki had even _been_ to Midgard during their youth. The entry had said that Loki longed to live alone in the cave that he’d found there, so that he would not cause any further trouble or upset to Thor. “It was then I knew where to find you.”

Loki’s lips tighten. “Clever,” he grudges. “Clever indeed.”

“So, while we are changing subjects, are you going to explain to me why it seems that the entirety of Midgard, _yourself included_ , believes you guilty of this trouble?”

Loki scowls yet again, beaten at his own game. “How can you _not_?”

“I have a theory…”

Loki angers now, paces around, all tense like a cornered animal. “Save your theories for a fool more easily convinced. My grubby fingerprints are _all_ over this. It was me — old, wrinkled and horrible — but most definitely _me_ —”

But Thor is angry too. “Will you not let me _speak_?”

Loki snarls, but allows it; Thor holds his neck with possessiveness before he starts. “I think it was all a plan. Your words still drip with self-hatred, brother, but when I look in your eyes now… I see not the wicked trickster you think yourself to be, but the adolescent I found rosy-cheeked and bold on the eve of a new year, not so long ago. A reminder of _you_ , before fate twisted you into something wicked.”

Loki’s face is visibly affected by the statement, he cannot try to hide it. So instead he spits venom — mocking laughter and cruel words, all too familiar. “You act as though I was pure and innocent during our youth shared together. As though I were not _always_ this monster.” And then, Loki casts a glamour upon them both, but like no glamour he has ever done before.

Before Thor looks down, he knows already that he is the foolish young man of their shared brotherhood once more. Loki is young too, and his skin is the palest cornflower blue— not darkened with markings like a frost giant, not golden and gleaming like an Aesir; not even deathly and sallow, like _Loki_. But perhaps a combination of the three.

“If you’d have known what I _really_ was back then, you would have killed me while you had the chance.” His voice is so young, so rich with hurt. Thor’s heart aches. After all they have been through, still it comes down to _this_. The pain Loki must have endured, feeling his whole life to be a lie from the very start…

“I would have done anything _but_ ,” Thor replies, matching Loki’s younger, tear-filled eyes. His brother is beautiful— exquisite regardless of which colour his skin decides itself to be.

“You can’t prove that!” Loki snarls through sorrow. “And now we will never know. That decision, that _right_ , was stolen from us.”

Thor shakes his head. “No. My heart tells me, Loki.” He takes Loki’s hand into his own, presses it against his chest. “And my heart is seldom wrong when it comes to you.”

Loki’s fingers clutch at his heart, and then wrap around Thor’s neck. “If _I’d_ have known what I was back then,” Loki says, mouth muffled into his shoulder, “I would have surely killed myself.”

Thor pulls back a little so that he may see Loki’s eyes at such a harrowing admission. “I would have stopped you. Make no mistake of it.”

Now Loki shakes his head. “And how would you have managed that?”

“Because I have always loved you too much, brother…”

Loki only scoffs at this. “I never asked for your love or your protection, you arrogant fool.”

Thor takes a deep breath. He would follow his heart in this. “…And if I had known that our blood ran different, I would have known it acceptable to do this.”

And so he kisses Loki. It feels different like this— while they are both glamoured, younger and more vulnerable— much more naive and innocent than their previous coupling, yet no less satisfying. Thor pulls away to breathe and gazes at his brother.

Loki’s pale blue skin mottles back to a pallidly cream shade under Thor’s touch; the tiny flecks of red in Loki’s eyes fade away as the already overriding green grows fiercer still. He is visibly shaking, expression terrified and wanting as he breathes in timid little puffs and pants.

He is beautiful.

Thor wonders if this is what Loki would truly look like, were he told the truth all those years ago, but he knows that his brother would not care for such supposition. So instead, Thor trails fingers up Loki’s bare arm, noting how the skin changes colour with his movement.

“Exquisite,” he says, fascinated.

Loki soaks the word in, closing his eyes — Thor supposes in an act of not openly conveying his true feelings.

“I mean it. You are so beautiful, Loki. Truly and always. You mesmerise me.”

Loki makes a low growling sound now, lingering under his brother’s touch like it is both torture and ecstasy. Thor watches as Loki changes back, either unwilling or unable to keep the glamour upon them any longer.

“ _This_ is me,” he says, pain in his voice despite his obstinate nature.

“And still, you are beautiful,” Thor says, drinking in the sight of him.

And it is true. Whether Loki had eyes of ruby red, emerald green or sapphire blue, it would matter not. If his skin was a deep, dark Jotunn shade, why would Thor care? He is _Loki_ , therefore whoever he chooses to be, Thor will love him. Crave him. Struggle to be without him.

Though he cannot deny that within the dim-lit confines of the cave, fire crackling and casting an orange glow of seidr around the room, his brother’s skin looks positively luminous and every inch Aesir as he allows himself to be undressed and led to the bed.

Beneath Thor, he lies still and expectant now, as if wanting —no, _craving_ to be worshipped. Thor will indulge him. He roves his hands across the soft yet taut flesh of Loki’s abdomen, the inside of his thighs, the curve of his buttocks. Thor scatters kisses from head to toe, revering in the particularly sensitive parts of his body where the skin flutters beneath his lips. When he reaches for Loki’s cock, already primed to spend even without stimulation, Loki stops him with a gentle hand.

“I am naked. You are not,” Loki states, matter-of-fact. “Allow me to address the balance.” And he grabs at Thor’s garments —albeit _slowly_ — red, blue and silver falling to the floor in an almost methodical manner.

Once fully naked, Thor repeats the same actions from before —roving hands, scattered kisses— noting how Loki squirms a little more this time around, further enjoying the altered friction that Thor’s naked flesh brings.

“Mmm,” Loki makes the most delicious noises when Thor finally does take his hardness into a hungry mouth, slow and deliberate. The noises turn into half-strung curses when Thor starts to stretch him out, using saliva and thick fingers, and his tongue every so often. Again, slow. Deliberate; relishing the intimacy of the act.

When he is all but a mess beneath Thor’s touch, Loki finally relents.

“Please, brother,” he begs, breathless. “ _Please_ fuck me.”

Thor doesn’t quite know when it stops being slow and gentle and starts being viciously assiduous; possibly when Loki began clawing a little too hard across his shoulders as Thor tried to control the deep, gentle thrusts inside of him — the tight, forbidden heat that warrants the roughest and most intense kind of exploration, igniting Thor’s bones. Whatever caused it — whatever changed, it matters not. All that truly matters now is that this is what it is. Heat. Intimacy. Terrifying passion.

Loki’s eyes are shining wet as Thor looks down at him, fingers knotted in silken black hair, splayed beneath a bundle of bedcovers. Tears trickle down his face when Thor kisses him, breath hitching with every thrust.

“Am I hurting you?”

“How can you not?” Loki says, and Thor _hates_ that he is using it to mean something else in this moment of perfection. Loki ceases bundling the sheets with his fists then, and instead digs fingernails into his brother’s shoulders, urging him on. “That doesn’t mean I want you to cease your ministrations. Come, claim me harder still.”

“I love you,” Thor says, as he complies.

“I—” Loki tries, “I—I—” but instead he comes undone in gut-wrenching spurts between their bellies, and Thor growls in frustration as he comes too. He bites at Loki’s neck, stutters his hips and loses himself completely, if only for a fleeting moment.

They lay together, exhausted.

“I love you too,” Loki finally concedes, in barely a whisper. But Thor has already fallen asleep, so he doesn’t hear it.

***

The tiny lights twinkle across the walls of the cave. Thor wakes up, and despite the cosy facade of the room, he finds that he is in the bed alone.

He sits up and looks around, notices that the red book is open on the table. Panic rises in his chest — and up to his throat, as he runs his fingers across the page.

_Thor,_

_It pains me to write this, but it is necessary. This will be the final entry to mark our stories together, once and for all. No more tricks or lies._

_Quite simply, I am still afraid. I am utterly perplexed by what happened in New York, so I cannot trust myself to not wreak havoc across the realms, and I cannot trust myself to be vulnerable with you any more so than I have allowed over these past weeks._

_Believe me when I say that this course of action is for the good of everyone, especially you. Do not search for me, because you will be wasting your time, and enough has been wasted already. Put it to better purposes._

_I’d tell you that which you wish to hear, but you would be certainly worse off for it. So instead, I will say thank you for all that you have done for me._

_I am sorry, brother._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and concrit and kudos and things... they always be welcome here, or [here](http://ikoliholic.tumblr.com)! <3


	18. The Other Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki searches for the Other-Loki, so that he may end his story once and for all.  
> __________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I’m gonna warn ya... Things here are going to get worse before they might get better. My sincerest apologies =)

It’d pained Loki to leave the warmth of the cave, and the warmth of Thor’s embrace, but he knew that he needed to do so. For all of his life, he’d been reminded by almost all that had known him that nothing would ever change for him. He is a liesmith, a trickster, second best always…

And how right they had been, Loki thinks, as he wipes tears from his own face in a silent, frenzied fit. Even this newer attempt at changing his story — de-aging, _re-aging_ — all of it had failed. In fact, it was _more_ terrible in ways now, because in trusting Loki again, Thor would openly, willingly lose everything. Worse still, Thor would turn his back on him once again somewhere along the way. Loki could not cope with any such further rejection, no. Best to cut the threads before they fray too much.

Thor is better off without him anyway. Loki has always known this. He has just never been brave enough to admit it, or selfless enough to cease antagonising his big brother.

But now, there is something that makes Loki wish he _could_ have stayed beside Thor. Thor desired Loki — _desired_ him even when he was Jotunn. _Is_ Jotunn. In all of the time since he’d known, Loki had never glamoured himself in such a way, nor had he ever allowed whatever he was —or is— to be seen by anybody. Not even himself. It shames and disgusts him to the core.

He hates being what he is.

Yet Thor had shown him nothing but love and hunger when he’d looked at Loki last night. Touched him with reverence enough to make Loki’s cheeks blaze with heat just thinking back to it…

It is too late, though. Pleasure and peace has permitted clarity where confusion and wickedness still runs deep. Loki has caused mayhem throughout the realms, and he does not deserve anything from Thor, let alone his unyielding, non-judgemental adoration. Thor _should not_ love Loki, but he will not stop, so Loki must make it stop in the only way he knows how.

Running. Hiding. Dying.

***

He uses his magic to find a crack between the worlds. He wishes to speak with the other Loki, for he has many questions to ask. It takes him days this time — searching around in The Nothing, but he eventually succeeds in finding his likeness for one final time.

Loki can succeed with anything if he puts his full heart into it.

“I want the other option,” he says, haughty and proud and only a little haggard and desperate.

Other-Loki smiles knowingly. He knew it would come to this. “You cannot have it,” he replies, eyebrow raised. “You had your choice, and you made it already.”

“You tricked me into living my life as a mere boy,” Loki’s veneer cracks further still, voice lilting to anger far too soon. “You-you _wiped_ my memories… I turned myself into a monster once more…threatened a Realm—”

“No, _you_ did those things to yourself, Loki,” Other-Loki interrupts, “you simply do not remember.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Loki narrows his eyes. “Speak plainly, not in riddles.”

“Pah. Rich, coming from you,” Other-Loki smirks, but continues anyway. It is time. “During your first encounter with me here, when I gave you the choice. _That_ is what you wanted for your second chance. I told you my story, and then I gave you the option to choose which way to live your life, nice guy that I am.”

Loki opens his mouth and closes it again, genuinely dumbstruck. He had not thought of such a thing, had only imagined that the decisions made in The Nothing had been from this meddler, and that every decision since then had been unbeknownst made by himself alone.

Grating at Loki’s silence, the strange Loki continues. “My story is long and complicated. I am reborn, but I shouldn’t have been. I was duped by a future version of myself and born in flames —the remains of a tortured soul, product of an ego death— devoid of jealousy and bitterness and old grudges…”

“I do not care about _you_ ,” Loki bites, “I am here because I want the other choice!” He shoves at the other Loki’s shoulders now, but in The Nothing, there is nowhere to throw him, so instead he finds himself clinging in desperation, eyes wild. “Please. I am no good for anybody. Have mercy. Give me an eternity of peace within the confines of isolation.”

Much to Loki’s surprise, the scruffy likeness pulls him into a tight hug.

“Goodness me. You’re a damned mess,” he soothes as Loki bristles at the condescension and immediately pulls away. “I was telling you _my_ story for a reason. I am Loki… the uh, Earth-616 Edition. I needed only to remember three important things close to my heart in order to survive, and I’m doing well enough so far…

You on the other hand, are _not_ me. You weren’t reborn entangled in separate stories, learning and adapting from the remains of your past and future selves. You were simply lost and alone. Frightened and tired.” Loki’s face is the picture of vexation as Other-Loki continues. “But… but we had the same kind of pain. The pain of feeling unloved, mistrusted, despised. That is the truth. But there is always more than one truth. Y’see?”

“No, I’m afraid that I do _not_ see.”

“Well, it’s all a bit existential-crisis-y, but aren’t we so very _good_ at it?”

“You are a maddened fool,” Loki says, shoving away, frustrated.

“As are you. I did not wipe your memories, Loki. You did that to yourself, though I understand fully why you did so. And I uh, helped you do it. Still, you can’t trick me.” Loki eyes his scruffy approximation now, more icy and threatening than desperate and sad. “You wanted to protect the worlds from _you_ , but in hiding in a cave in Scotland, oh so young and innocent and _just_ within reach of your brother’s grasp, you gave your true motive away…”

“Preposterous,” Loki snarls, heat rising to his face.

“You wanted to remain hidden, yet you wanted to be found so badly. You want to be forgiven, loved. Revered and feared…” A crooked and knowing mouth curves into a smile. “And more than anything in all of your lovely little Realms, you want to be _Thor’s_.”

“ _Preposterous,_ ” Loki says again, but it’s a pointless utterance now.

“So naturally, I helped. Nice guy that I am.”

“Absurd,” Loki changes the adjective, but it makes things no less true.

“Is it?” Other-Loki responds with odd, pitying kindness. “I’ve felt your soul, heard your words and seen your actions. That Thor gave up on you during your Infinity War? It broke your heart. _You_ , after all of the wickedly cruel things you’ve done over the past decade of life… during that war, you _finally_ understood the error of your ways. The total shambolic chaos you’d had a hand in—”

“You know nothing of it,” Loki says as his eyes fill with tears that he will _not_ let fall.

“I know _everything_ of it. You realised that you were a _villain_ , not a hero. But it was too late, because your brother didn’t believe you. Worse still, he didn’t give a Helish damn. He’d given up hope — and because of this, you’d given up hope too.” Other-Loki’s face cracks into a smile once more. “But in your second chance, you forgot your wrongs and became a younger man, or rather, an _older boy_ , knowing it to be the age where Thor trusted you the most. The age that you felt most loved and prized by him. Before tricks and jealousy and violence tore you apart.”

The smile disappears. Loki goes to retaliate, but he cannot lie with his own eyes searching him; when what has been said is so transparently, painfully true.

“And then Thor made you all grown up and fucked it up for you. Literally _fucked you._ Ha! Depressing and somewhat ironic, huh?”

Loki ignores the question, ignores it all. “Give me the other choice,” he demands shakily.

The strange Loki goads. “If you really wanted to end this, you could easily take your own life.”

“And then what?” Loki’s voice breaks as he finally allows the tears to roll down his cheeks, “End up in Hel, embroiled in some wicked plan that its Mistress has schemed for me? Neither she nor I would allow me to remain dead in any case.”

“Hmm…”

“…Never mind anything of _Ragnarok_ , or of my proven track record to involuntarily cheat death before I’d even end up at Hela’s gates…”

“Weeelllll…”

“You seem to be so perceptive of me and my universe, yet you forget all this?”

“Actually, nah. Just thought I’d be a bit of an ass to prove a point.”

“ _What_ point?”

“That your desire to live is insatiable, despite yourself.”

Loki growls in frustration now, “I want the other choice! I demand it of you! Life as this monster is too difficult.”

And something snaps. “You mean you’re _chicken-shit scared_ of being fucked by your brother, more like,” Other-Loki growls too and grabs at Loki’s garments, feeling bitterness that he has never felt before. “ _Your_ Thor is so kind and forgiving —not a bit like my brother, who’d washed his hands of me once and for all! Despite my transformation, despite every damned thing!” He slaps him across the face as Loki’s hands curl around his neck. “You have no idea how damned-well _lucky_ you are.”

“Yeah, well you have Verity,” Loki gasps at the realisation as it comes out— he _does_ remember aspects from his doppelgänger’s life. His hands loosen from neck and drop to his sides. “ _I_ will ruin everything. I have tried, and failed again, and now I would end my story.”

“And how do you know your second chance has failed?”

“Because everyone still hates me. I truly changed, and _still_ nobody cares.”

“Don’t they?” Other-Loki bristles, tightening his grip, “Or isn’t that exactly what you said last time you sought out my counsel? Didn’t I tell you then to trust me?” He has had enough of playing nice now. He tackles Loki to the non-ground, restraining his wrists. “More importantly, why does that even _matter_ what anyone else thinks?”

“Because…because…”

“You can’t even say it, can you?” The Other-Loki sighs sadly, heart clearly heavy. He loosens his grip a little, shaking his head. “Verity said you were a bit of a lost cause. Maybe I shoulda listened to the good ol’ BFF sooner.” Seidr swirls around his staff then, plumes of blue smoke permeate the air as a little blue orbs floats and glows. “Very well. You may have what you wish. Be at peace.”

“Thank you,” Loki says as he feels his body start to lose its mass, particles reverting into something dripping with magic, hope and alternative completion.

“No problem,” Other-Loki smiles through the mist, with a hint of a wicked glint in his eyes. “By the way. King Loki?” he smirks and pauses for dramatic effect. “That was all me.”

Loki gasps at the revelation. He had not doubted for a second that the wicked, older version of himself parading around the skies of New York was anybody but himself. What a fool he is. “You back-stabbing, imbecilic, multiverse-hopping—” he swipes at the wicked trickster, but his hand simply passes through the roguish, tattered clothing as an unbearable version of his own cackling laugh rings in his ears.

Out-tricked by himself, both in body and mind. For eternity.

This was a bad day.

Suddenly, everything becomes a haze of blue.

***

Verity raises her eyebrow disapprovingly. Before she can speak, Other-Loki has folded his arms and is giving her a stern nod in return.

“Trust me, I _still_ know what I’m doing.”


	19. Story Orb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is granted his missing memories.  
> _________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for Loki: Agent of Asgard here. Also, this chapter is flashback ahoy. Enjoy!

Loki is trapped under a cruel combination of seid and science… molecular science, to be precise. He is shrinking into subatomic existence — perhaps like the Ant-Man of Midgard, but without the ridiculous suit — through the ferocity of an incantation that he cannot even begin to comprehend.

An orb of magic. A story preserver. He should have _known_ the second he laid eyes on it, dangling from the Other-Loki’s staff. Tricked by a Trickster into the perpetual agony of his own story. No life, no death.

The other choice, that he should never have taken.

Its roots are as toughened as Yggdrasil itself, and as he feels the magic bind around him he is truly terrified. He cannot move, has no perception save for a blurry, bluish tinge of whatever quantised state he’s becoming unravelled within, and a wicked slice of a memory that the Other-Loki has thrust upon him with this cruel magic, taking him back to that fated day…

_***_

_“If it is possible, but I don't think it is…” He takes a deep breath. “I would change my story.”_

_The last thing Loki sees before the white obliterates his vision is his own eyes imploring him with fierce, morbid curiosity…_

After the white of The Nothing stops consuming him, Loki awakens with the other Loki beside him. It has been but seconds, and yet they are in the beginnings of a new, wholly different universe. Loki is impressed at the intensity of the astral projection to say the least.

“I’m helping rebuild this place,” Other-Loki says, casually. “No biggie. I mean, I’d destroyed enough of it back when I was an angrier old fellow.”

Loki looks around. It’s all so _weird_. Real, but not real. “How?”

“My universe _had_ to end. There were too many stories. It was getting out of control… All of the realms were fighting and it was total chaos. I mean, even too much chaos for the _God_ of Chaos, y’know?

“ _You_ ended your universe?” Loki asks, disgusted at the thought of it despite his own involvement in his own universe’s demise.

“No no no. I mean, I had a hand in it, sure, but that’s not what this is about. It was far bigger than me. During the final battle of _our war_ , something happened to me. Well, a lot of things happened to me, actually, in the preceding months. I was reborn out of flames, for one.”

Loki raises a sceptical eyebrow. “By whom?”

“By… uh… myself. It’s all _very_ complicated. Basically, I—or rather the old me— tried to change for good. I’d done something that even _I_ couldn’t forgive myself for, and it made me not want to be such a power-hungry, villainous lunatic. Anyway, I became an Agent of Asgard, seeking redemption. For every task I completed for the good of the realm, I would have one bad thing from my past stricken off from the history books.” Other-Loki smiles sadly before he continues. “History wasn’t going to _disappear_ as such, but I’d be remembered in a different way. A _better_ way.”

“How did that work out for you?”

“Mixed results. Death via flames from myself, as mentioned.”

“Marvellous.”

“But actually…actually, the death I had was more of a ceasing of the ego. I managed to survive, and no longer did I feel my past wanting to control my future.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Loki says, tiring easily of this fool. He’d came here to escape the War of Infinity, not be Agony Aunt to some likeness talking rubbish about flames and ego and past and future. He has made his decision.

“Because, it was only when I truly let go of my old grudges that I finally moved on.”

“I have let go of my old grudges,” Loki lies. He will _never_ let go.

Other-Loki raises his eyebrow now. “Sure. Anyway. When reborn, I was still me. Still _am_ me. First, last, and always. Except now, I can no longer tell a lie. And I can’t remember much from my wicked pasts, other than what Verity’s told me.”

“Who in Hel is Verity?”

“You don’t have a Verity? Oh man. Sucks to be you. She’s my BFF.”

Loki bristles. “What in Hel is a BFF?”

“Never mind, we don’t have time for all this,” Other-Loki says, and instead raises his wrist into the air. A young woman appears as the blue orb on the bracelet swirls around with magic.

“Hi. I’m Verity,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And one of you is more than enough to deal with.”

Loki looks her up and down, mouth open in shock. She is monochrome, semi-opaque… “You’re… _dead_?”

Now _Verity_ raises an eyebrow. “Rude.”

“Anyway,” Other-Loki says, “My lovely-and-only friend? She can see through any lie. We make quite the team.”

“Is there a meaning to all of this useless storytelling?” Loki snarls impatiently, “Aren’t you supposed to be changing _my_ story, not revelling in your own delights?”

“Oh, yeah. So. Right. _My_ story was a total mess from start to finish, but I managed to change myself for the better. It took a lot of work, and it was totally awful, but here I am. Just in time for a new universe.”

“ _Lucky you_ ,” Loki replies, sarcasm dripping.

“But you, you’re not quite the same as me.”

“Indeed I am not. Are you going to help me change my story, or must I suffer more of this mindless self-indulgence?”

“Your story’s different,” Other-Loki says, shrugging his shoulders. “Still though, it’s a story, as everything is in the end. And you’re Loki, so I’m guessing it’s a multi-faceted story of pain, complication, daddy issues, and brotherly love?” Loki’s silence speaks volumes enough, so Other-Loki continues. “You have to understand that the only way I became the person I truly wanted to be, the only way I achieved _actual_ redemption after everything was by losing my ego, not caring about what others thought of me.”

Simple loss of ego? Loki looks at his approximation and wonders if he is maddened, but still he says nothing in reply.

“I couldn’t move on until I let it go. I remembered three things, and three things only…”

“It’s true,” Verity chimes in.

“‘ _I have a brother whom I love, I have a friend who believes in me, and I will not sit well in any box made for me.’_ All of the other things from my past, save for remembering those three facts, none of it mattered, and my memory was cut into ribbons… by myself. You’ll have to do the same.”

Loki eyes him now, skeptical once more, “How do I know that you’re not tricking me?”

“Because I can’t lie.”

“He really can’t,” Verity confirms with a firm nod. “It’s quite the personality transformation, acually.”

“I don’t even _know_ you, mortal. Cease your annoying voice.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Other-Loki grabs him by the front of his bedraggled armour, “don’t you speak to my BFF like that!”

“It’s okay,” Verity laughs, “let him go.” She looks at a furious Loki and smiles. “Try me. Tell me something, and I’ll tell you if you’re lying.”

Loki can’t pretend that he isn’t intrigued. “Fine,” he says, casual as he can. “I hate the smell of roses.”

“Lie,” Verity smirks. “You _love_ the smell of roses.”

Loki shrugs his shoulders, nonchalant, “Easy enough to guess. Another.” He turns to the strange Loki, eyeing him up and down with derision. “I think this vagabond’s tattered coat is disgusting.”

“True. But I think you also kinda like it.”

Loki frowns.

The Other-Loki looks most affronted. “Well if you’re gonna take a swipe at my spiffing attire, how about something a little more personal?” He says, eyes twinkling. “Did you really leap into the Void to die?”

Loki scowls. “No,” he bites, defensively.

“Lie!” Very says, too-excited. Other-Loki scowls at her, while Loki looks hopeless at his uncovered lie. Perhaps she _is_ gifted with such ability…

“Do you really think Thor despises you?” Other-Loki asks.

“Yes.”

“ _Truth_.”

“Do you blame him?” He asks now.

“No.”

“Truth again!” Verity beams. “Sorry.”

“Do you… do you truly wish to seek redemption?”

Loki looks down and tightens his mouth stubbornly. “Yes.”

“No matter what it takes?”

“Yes.”

Verity nods in affirmation.

“Good. Y’see, we’re different, but we’re still alike. Even though you’ve apparently switched sides during your realm-shattering disaster of a war, nobody cares, right? Same for the _old me_ being the Agent of Asgard. I’d changed, but nobody cared. So the old me was still angry. He just wanted… I just wanted… Anyway, the point is this, brother from another mother— you’re going to have to do a whole lot more than be a turncoat in order to achieve true redemption.”

“You’re not going to burn me alive, are you?”

“No. First of all, you’re going to tell _me_ everything important about your story so far. And then, I’m going to help you forget it.”

***

Loki feels as though he is crying, _screaming_ at the memory that’s been so cruelly given to him when the time is too late to change anything, but he’s a weightless mass of non-tangible energy now — so it’s pretty difficult to tell for certain. In fact, he’s unsure if he’s alive or dead, existent or non-existent at this point, nothing but particles trapped…

Then, through the blue tinge enveloping him, he hears a rumblings of a familiar voice, though he cannot at first decipher the words spoken.

Other-Loki. Of course.

Things become a little clearer soon enough. Sight and sound becomes not crystal, but manageable.

“You hear me in there? Helloooo? Weird. I thought I’d at least be able to see a silhouette of you or something.”

Loki begs for freedom through a scream, but it is a silent one. The Other-Loki either cannot hear him, or he at least pretends not to.

“Did you like that memory? I really am too kind to you. Think it’s due to your _ravishing_ facial features. I’ve got a soft spot for your eyes. So _vivid_ … Shut up, Verity… Does any of this make sense yet? I can’t give it all away, but here. Have some more.”

Loki recoils again as another memory is cast into his mind’s eye…

***

“Redemption for me is only possible if there is a universe actually left after Thanos’s rage.”

Other-Loki nods, and with a swirl of his staff, plumes of smoke rise up. “Oh,” he says after the fog has settles.

“What?” Loki asks, nervous.

“Well, this is uh, awkward.”

“ _What_?”

“The war is ended,” Other-Loki shrugs his shoulders. “Thanos is defeated. Dead.”

Loki reels. “You _cannot_ be serious?” Hardly any time has elapsed. It’s difficult to comprehend for certain in The Nothing, but it can’t have been more than a week since Loki had desperately climbed through a crack in the worlds to escape the War of Infinity…

Some infinity.

“How’s about that for irony?” Other-Loki laughs. “You decide to float off to the Void, and your team goes and wins the war.”

Loki makes a guttural growl before snapping back with decorum, “It matters not. Thor would not have forgiven me anyway.”

“Aye, fair enough. Too late to dwell either way. Let me check out the state of the realms, then.” Another plume of smoke rises, settles. “Not good. Lots of devastation. Asgard is a _mess_ …”

“If my memories are to be wiped, they would recognise and find me on Asgard instantly, I am sure of it. The risks are too great there.”

“Jotunheim, then?” Other-Loki smiles with an impish grin. “Frosty and it looked like crap anyway—”

“Do not even _think_ about casting me out to the life of a Jotunn,” Loki hisses, before regaining composure and clearing his throat. “How…how fares Midgard?”

More smoke. “Midgard is damaged also, devastated beyond immediate repair in many parts.” The smoke clears. “Though some locations are habitable. Australasia appears the least damaged of their continents,” Other-Loki wiggles his eyebrows. “Fancy throwing some shrimp on the barbie?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just watch out for all the sublime sunshine and epic sandy beaches.”

“I will go to Europe.”

“But—”

“Scaw. Northernmost Scotland. There is an abandoned cave… I do not care what state it is in. ”

Other-Loki raises an eyebrow. “Fine. _Scaw_ it is. Sounds lovely. Horrendous howling weather, crashing waves and desolation…” He smirks. “Perfectly indulgent self-exile conditions. Are you ready?”

“I am.” Loki takes a deep breath, closes his eyes.

“You know you won’t even remember this conversation, right? And that—”

“Will you just get on with it?!”

“Woah, chill out, dude. Ever thought about doing yoga?”

“I swear to the gods above us…”

“Okay okay, sorry,” Other-Loki says, sounding anything but, while conjuring up magic so strong that it manages to dishevel particles of The Nothing that surrounds them. “Say it. From your heart.”

And Loki does, while conjuring up all the powerful magic of his own that he can muster— even _more_ powerful in fact; the kind of sorcery that would deplete any seidrmadr’s supply for a very long while. He takes a final, deep breath.

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard. Bastard child of Jotunheim. I have a brother whom I love with all of my heart. I wish to redeem myself for past mistakes, and I would change the rest of my story.”

And so it is.

***

The final memory comes just as Loki feels his mind drifting away…

It’s the cave, back in Scaw, almost echoing empty and pitch-dark, save for the glowing embers of a fire. Just beside the fire there lies an egg — quite a large-sized egg, palest green, with a magpie on top of it.

Perhaps _that_ magpie, but Loki can’t be sure. Certainly has the same beady eyes.

It shuffles itself out of its nest, flaps away out of sight once the egg starts to shake. It cracks, but instead of a bird or any other creature, out of it pours a thick seidr smog. The magic soaks into every dark crevice of the cave, enriching the stone with all manner of items — pots, pans, twinkling fairy lights, a bed… a home.

_His_ home. _Lachlan’s_ home.

And inside the bed, there he is, sleeping soundly. Lachlan— or rather, Loki. De-aged. Young, vulnerable and without his magic. Alone. Ready for redemption.

The memory fades from his mind, and once again blueness tinges Loki’s sight. He cries now, or at least he thinks he’s crying. The memories, this magic, the strength of the Other-Loki’s abilities… This couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Could it?


	20. Many Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relentless and stubborn, Thor searches across the realms for Loki.  
> _________

Trapped deep within the magical, subatomic trap of a blue gem, Loki can still see anything within physical proximity; it’s like floating through an impossible blue, thickened haze, yet somehow it provides numbing clarity at the same time. Loki is ever conscious, yet somehow he no longer feels _actual_ — existing within a hideous dangling precipice somewhere between magic and quantum mechanics.

He witnesses Thor find him — or rather, he witnesses Thor spot the pretty blue gem entangled in the bedsheets of the cave where the Other-Loki must have mockingly placed him after the final magic was cast, washing his hands of the story orb for good.

Upon finding it, Thor holds the gem in his hands with care. Believing it to have been Loki’s, he ties it with the twine from Loki’s pockets securely around his neck, a sad and striking kind of pendant that he refuses to remove for months to come.

From around his brother’s neck, Loki then witnesses Thor scour many places on Midgard all over again — New York, the cave in Scotland, Edinburgh, New York once more, Asgard. Thor even travels to _Jotunheim_ , where he’s almost killed; he begs Hela for information again, Odin for understanding again, all of it to no avail. He returns then to Midgard and begs the Avengers to help him. Some of them do. Still, everybody believes Loki guilty. Thor defends his brother with a proud ferocity.

And so for five long months, Thor searches for Loki, relentless and maddened as Loki lays nowhere except wrapped around his neck. It feels agonising, as though it may well have been five centuries…

 _Then_ , Loki witnesses Thor do something that is properly clever: he seeks out a female named Verity Willis.

From the snippets Loki can recall, having had memories retrospectively seared onto his mind, he knows that in his cruel captor’s universe, Verity is special indeed. Due to no fault or wish of her own, she knows at all times whether a person is lying or telling the truth. More impressive still, she _willingly_ befriended the Other-Loki. They are ‘BFFs’, or some other stupid Midgardian slang…

Loki wonders how Thor manages to know who Verity is.

***

Verity Willis of Earth-1999999 scratches her head. She knows that the Thor at the front door of her apartment is _genuinely_ Thor, but she’s still skeptical about letting the God of Thunder into her home, no matter how chivalrous he appears to be.

“Hmm, let me think,” she scratches her chin now, wondering if she should be truthful. “Yeah. I did get some really weird messages from _a_ _Loki_ , months back.” Thor’s eyes light up, so she quickly adds, “I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be, y’know, _that_ Loki. No offence, but that’d be creepy as hell. Everybody knows he’s long dead.”

She feels a little bad that Thor’s face drops, but not _that_ bad, because his asshole brother caused a lot of death and destruction back in his alive-prime.

“Do you believe him dead?” he asks her, concerned, “I am told you can see through any lie.”

“It uh, doesn’t really work like that.” She shrugs, wishing that she had no such power at all. “For one, I don’t even _know_ him…” As Thor’s face saddens further at this information, Verity takes pity. She makes her decision. “I think you better come in, though. Do you drink tea? Coffee? Beer?”

*

After she’s sorted out some fresh, strong macchiatos, Verity shows an appreciative Thor her cellular device, and Loki reads the messages too, in horror, through the blue haze.

 

> HI VERITY WILLIS, LOKI FROM 616 HERE (ANOTHER UNIVERSE WHERE THERE’S ANOTHER YOU. LUCK WOULD DICTATE THAT UR PHONE NUMBER IS THE SAME, JUST WITH A DIFFERENT DIALLING CODE, LOL. ‘MULTIVERSE MAGIC,’ AMIRIGHT?)
> 
> WONDERING IF UR FRIENDS WITH THE OTHER CRAZY, ANGST-RIDDLED LOKI BELONGING TO YOUR UNIVERSE?
> 
> PS: I KNOW UR A HUMAN LIE DETECTOR. PLS DON’T BE FREAKED OUT. I’M A NICE GUY THESE DAYS, HONEST.
> 
> _Hello …“Loki.” No, I don’t know him personally. But judging by news reports, he seems to be a dick, much like you. Delete my number before I block and report you. K?_
> 
> OKAY NP, THANKS FOR REPLYING. I KNOW HIM A LITTLE BIT BUT WANNA GET 2KNOW HIM MORE. HE SEEMS RATHER DAMAGED. ANY MORE INFO TO DIVULGE? PS: I AM ALSO LOKI. GENUINE. IT’S COMPLICATED.
> 
> _Check Wikipedia out, you creep. Try ‘The Battle of New York,’ ‘Ragnarok,’ and ‘Daddy Issues,’ for further advice. And seriously. STOP texting me before I hunt you down and punch your teeth in._
> 
> KK SORRY, THANKS AGAIN.
> 
> BY THE WAY, U ON TUMBLR? APPARENTLY I HAVE INTERDIMENSIONAL SOCIAL NETWORKING SKILLS. MY URL’S LOKIOFASGARD.
> 
> _Please fuck off._
> 
> OK! TTFN! X

Thor hands the device back to Verity. “Thank you,” he says. “Was that all?”

“Yeah,” she says, sipping at her coffee before pausing. “Look, uh, Thor. I’m really sorry. Even if everybody _did_ think your Loki was a shithead, it still must have been hard to lose your brother.” She sips once more, “But I don’t know him at all. Other than you taking this uh, other Loki’s number down and trying to contact him, I can’t help you.”

“I thank you, Lady Verity,” Thor says, smiling despite the obvious disappointment. “Though I’m afraid I do not have a cellular device of my own.” Loki has to silently scoff at Thor’s embarrassing confession. It’s been five cursed months, and that oaf has still not seen fit to acquire one? “Nor do I know how they function. Perhaps you could write it down instead for me…”

“Seriously?” Verity has to stifle a laugh. This fact, doubled with how amusing Thor currently looks as he holds a tiny macchiato cup in _huge_ hands just makes him seem so out of place. “Like, how the hell do you speak to people?”

“Through electronic mail on my compute-uh… computer. Tony insisted upon it many years ago now.”

“Iron Man! Hah. What a jerk,” Verity bleats, almost dropping her tiny cup. “I mean, what about when you’re mid-battle? Do you have to go home to send a quick tactical email?”

“No, we each have access to state-of-the-art Midgardian technology that allows us to communicate via radio waves.”

“Like walkie-talkies?”

“What is a walkie-talkie?”

Verity has to stifle _another_ laugh. “Never mind. Look, wait here.” She roots through a few boxes of junk and eventually plucks out a little plastic phone with a charging cord wrapped around it. “An old _cellular device_. You can have it.” She turns it on and types away on the buttons. “I’ll put this creepy Loki’s number in and give you a crash course in _Midgardian technology_.”

“That is most generous of you, Verity. You have my gratitude.”

“Don’t mention it. So, how little do you know about cellphones? Right, so this is how you switch it on…”

As she chats away to Thor, Loki goes beyond a state of panic… If Thor speaks to the Other-Loki, that serpent will surely deceive his brother, convince him out of searching for him once and for all…

He is doomed.

Unbeknownst, Thor smiles sadly and places down his third tiny coffee cup onto the wooden table. “In the other universe, you are apparently his closest friend. His _only_ friend, Verity. He saved the other version of you from the death of their worlds, you mean _that_ much to him.” Verity gasps at this information as Thor continues. “If you are not Loki’s friend at all in _our_ universe, then who is?”

Verity pushes her glasses further up her nose, knowingly. “Well I’m thinking that considering you’re the one who’s scouring the place desperately searching for him, possibly it’s _you_?”

Thor stays silent at this, but Loki can somehow feel him smile.

“You have a kind soul, and a special gift,” Thor eventually says in response. “’Tis a pity that Loki has never known you, nor I until now. Did you fight, during the war?”

“In my own way, yeah. Before the evacuation.” Verity shrugs, not really wanting to talk about it, “Tried being a proper superhero once, but I don’t think I’ve got the right skillset. Or the patience.”

“If you change your mind, please do speak to my fellow Avengers. You would have a strong place in the team, I am sure.”

“Thanks,” she laughs in modesty, “I’ll bear it in mind, though I tend not to play nice with other people.”

Thor smiles, speaks wistfully, “Perhaps that is why in a different universe, you and my brother are such good friends.” He stands up. “I bid you goodbye, and I thank you again, Verity.”

“Uh, don’t mention it.”

Loki feels Thor hesitate at the door. “Did you put your contact number in here also?”

Verity considers lying to Thor, Loki _sees_ it on her face, but then her smile fades. “No. Nothing personal. I just don’t like speaking to people very much. They’re full of lies, y’know?”

“Do you think me full of lies?” Thor says, voice devoid of any hurt and only harbouring curiosity, which Verity appreciates.

“I dunno. You’ve been asking most of the questions today. I—I do have one question though.” Verity taps her fingers on the door frame, “How’d you find out about the other universe? I know you’re an Asgardian God and all that, but uh, the other me… all that _info_ …”

“You would not believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” she laughs bitterly. “I’ve pretty much heard every ridiculous truth you could imagine.”

“Very well,” Thor heeds. “I was told it all through a talking magpie.”

Loki watches through the blue haze as Verity’s mouth hangs open at the truth, as does his own. He sheds silent tears down his face until he can see or hear no more pain, only feel it in his bones.

***

When Thor gets back to his apartment later the same day, he removes the blue gem from his neck, holding it tight in his palm.

“I am sorry, brother,” he says, voice low and sorrow-rich. “Despite all my best efforts, I cannot find you. Perhaps this pendant holds the key to your whereabouts. I can feel its magic prickle at my skin...” Thor holds the pendant from the twine, dangling it in mid-air. Loki feels as though his brother is staring straight into his soul. “If only I understood! I understand the cycle of Ragnarok, the weaving of the worlds and time itself, but _not_ this. How foolish and cruel, that the only person I could ask who would know of such things is you. I have even tried to consult the Norns again, but they laughed. Threatened to consume me entirely for my irrational, selfish dedication.”

“I know,” Loki says into nothing, teary eyes blurring his blue view. “I know.” His voice is nothing, too.

“And perhaps they are right.” Thor sighs, heart heavy, “You made so many enemies over the years. You even made an enemy of me on more than one occasion. But do not doubt. Brother, I have never stopped loving you.”

Loki screams into the mist, would that if he rattled his lungs so his brother could hear him…

He does not.

“I love you, Loki. I am _in_ love with you, and ever I will be. Wherever you are, I hope you never forget this. Truly. More than anything else in all of the worlds.” Tears roll silent down Thor’s cheeks now, dripping off his jaw in a steady stream before he can summon strength enough to continue with a smile. “And here I am, talking to a damned pendant in the desperate hope that somehow you would hear me. Pleading in our shared bed that you would simply reappear here, glamoured for all of this time in an act of mocking cruelty after having watched me travel the universe to find you. Even if you laughed in my face, even if you did not love me so, such cruelty would be preferable to this _unknown_.”

Loki cries too, still silent, still invisible to Thor. He wishes more than _anything_ that he could appear through a swirl of his own seidr — not remain trapped in this twisted version of horror.

Thor laughs now, gentle and quiet, “And if you _were_ here, my words would not be so eloquent, or you would twist them into something unintended altogether.” The laughter slowly fades, “Worse still, you could attack me. Blame me. Run again.” He drops the pendant to the bedcovers, loose in his hand. “I have often misunderstood the meaning behind your actions, brother, but now I understand clearly enough. You are frightened of yourself. The strength of your emotions, your internal chaos, it is a terrifying concoction.”

“I know. I know.”

“But I will not give up on you. Not this time.” Thor gives one last painful glance before he places the orb gently into the drawer beneath the windowsill, the phone following soon afterwards. “I just need some time to think.”

In blue darkness, Loki has never felt so much regret.

***

The sound of the phone vibrating within the chest of drawers startles Thor from his silent misery. He gasps in breath as fumbles with the drawer, grabs the device and opens the message. It’s from the other Loki. 

> SRY 4 LATE TB, BEEN BUSY REBUILDING CIVILISATION & JUST TAKEN UP TAP-DANCING LESSONS. GONNA PAY U A VISIT LATER, ONCE I FIGURE OUT HOW 2 DO MULTIDIMENSIONAL TELEPORTATION A BIT BETTER IN THIS RAD BOD.

Thor’s skin prickles with excitement, Loki can _feel_ it as he the pendant is threaded and tied around his neck once more.

Loki is far less excited though. In fact, he is terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments appreciated. Also, I think I'm gonna post the final three chapters in one go once I've finished writing them (which will hopefully be over the next few days).... 
> 
> So close to the end of this story. Argh, what a ride. I hope you're all still enjoying it.


	21. Lock and Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ex-Agent of Asgard finally reveals himself to Thor, but is he liesmith, saviour, both or neither?  
> __________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the showdown commence!

Thor paces up and down the tiny living area of his apartment. It is long past the agreed hour now, and he grows impatient waiting for this ‘Other-Loki’ to make himself known. With total lack of discipline, Thor drinks through countless bottles of Midgardian beer, as though they would help calm his nerves in any way. He twiddles with the orb tied round his neck too. Feeling the magic in it does nothing to help his nerves either, yet still he continues.

Finally, at 11:37pm, Other-Loki appears in a thick plume of smoke, grinning as the green and blue settles around the room. “Hello, Mr. Odinson. It’s a pleasure to finally meet y—”

Thor wastes no time. He pushes this pale imitation of his brother into a wall that rattles beneath the strength of it. “I have no time for these false pleasantries. Tell me where he is!”

“If you do not calm down and unhand me, I will disappear from your universe, never to return.” Other-Loki blinks calmly, talks evenly despite his affronted nature. “I do not lie.”

Thor lets go, with reluctance. Other-Loki shakes his head in derision, unnecessarily dusting off his shoulders with elegant fingers and black-painted nails. “Good _grief_ ,” he says after a moment. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

“Do not test me so,” Thor growls, hands balling into clenched fists. “It has been a very trying few months, and I would waste no further time.”

“Quite.”

“Tell me what you know about my brother.”

“Certainly,” Other-Loki says. “In due course. First though, you have something that belongs to me.” Gesturing to the pendant Thor wears around his neck, he holds his own wrist up in the air, “See? I have the matching bracelet and everything. Quite the collection.”

“Before I give you anything, strange one, I would know what you have done with my brother.”

“He did it all to himself, Thor.” Other-Loki winks, ignoring the threatening tone in Thor’s voice. “Well, most of it anyway. I may have dabbled a little. Threw the odd spanner in the works. But hey, what’s life without a little mischief, amiright?”

“ _Enough_ ,” Thor roars, but he keeps any physical threat to himself for fear of the consequence. “I demand you tell me now if you know of his whereabouts.”

Other-Loki’s expression is blank, then curious as his lips curl into a test.

“Do you love him?”

“With all of my heart.”

“As a brother should, or as a lover would?”

“Both.”

“Is that not wrong?”

“Yes, and no,” Thor admits, sighing heavily.

“How so?”

“Because there can be more than one truth.”

“Oh.” Other-Loki’s grin is wide, “Oh _helz_ yeah. _Now_ you’re getting it. Didn’t even need to give you a condescending speech or anything. Ikol served me well.”

Thor frowns in disbelief. “The magpie was _you_?”

“No. Well, yeah. A part of the original plan struck between your brother and I. Ikol was supposed to keep an eye on that hot mess of a Loki you have, unbeknownst to him, of course. Though the beady little bird did oft enjoy spying on you, too. Poor sod was particularly busy after you went and found Loki all drunk, stupid and vulnerable in Edinburgh…”

“I had thought he was a part of _my_ Loki,” Thor confesses, shame lacing his voice. “Perhaps a fragment of his personality.”

“Well, I guess he was _both_ of us in a way,” Other-Loki shrugs, nonchalant. “We are quite similar, after all.”

“And what of him now?”

“Ikol’s… around. Somewhere.”

“And where is _Loki_?” Thor asks, annoyed that he’d allowed his mind to wander.

“He’s… _around_ too. Hiding from his own story, but the _lock_ will find the _key_ soon enough,” Loki says, smirk creeping up on his face. “I swear, Thor, you’d _ring my neck_ if you knew the pun I just did.”

Thor growls at the riddle. He unties the twine from where the orb rests against his skin, proffers it into the air with an impatient huff. “Here. If I give you what you’ve requested, will you tell me where exactly my brother hides?”

“Norns, you are as oafishly dumb as my one is,” Other-Loki goes to take the pendant anyway, but then his devious and affronted expression falters as he hesitates and instead, smiles. A wise, trusting smile. Then, laughter bubbles out of his mouth — but it is not scathing or wicked, rather nostalgic and sweet. Thor feels unexpectedly comforted by it. “And almost as loveable too, you big muscly fool.” He pauses once more. “Very fitting then, that such a beautiful _gem_ should belong with a being of equal worth.”

As black nail-varnished fingers close his own over the pendant, green eyes glimmering, Thor finally understands what this Loki is truly telling him. “Indeed, ’tis the most precious and terrifying thing belonging to your universe, Thor. Be careful not to — oh I dunno — wrap it around Mjolnir’s magic or anything like that — swing it round in the air under a certain special tree and harness that marvellous elemental seidr of yours, thinking thoughts about how much you want brother dearest back as you’re doing so.”

“But does he… _want_ …” Thor asks then, ever the fool. Other-Loki offers another kind smile.

“It’s funny, because you are _so_ like my Thor, yet you’re so _not_ like my Thor. Dya know what I mean?” Thor says nothing in return — assuming the question rhetorical — and instead peers at the pendant in his hand, hopeful and fearful. “Good luck, blondie. I doubt we’ll ever cross paths again. Travelling across the multiverse is exhausting, even for me. Plus, I’ve got some work to do. Universe to help rebuild and all that.”

The Other-Loki blasts his staff and seidr swirls around the small room. When he starts to fade within the magic, Thor remembers to say something in return.

“Thank you. I think.”

“Take care of him,” is the reply he gets, along with a crooked grin. “I’ve got a feeling he’s gonna need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Gah, so close to the end! I'm getting sad now. This chapter's actually quite short; the final two are much beefier. I need to do just a few more edits, but I have lots of other commitments at the minute, so I mightn't be able to post for another week or so. Anyway, I hope you like the way it goes....


	22. Ego Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With renewed vigour, Thor continues his search for Loki. Will he succeed?  
> __________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is DONE. *finally wipes sweat off brow*
> 
> Last chapter’s below, and I’ll be posting the Epilogue in a day or two. Written some babbling crap [over on my Tumblr](http://ikoliholic.tumblr.com/post/146860001155/i-finished-writing-a-50k-fic) about the whole experience, because I’m a babbling fool.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for reading. So so much. Hope you enjoy the end…  
> <3

Thor takes it to the roots of Yggsdril, but it does not work. The Norns cackle in the air around him, mocking and wicked, and he has to fight his way from the tree’s murderous grip, escaping only just with the last breath in his lungs before death would have claimed him.

Giving himself no time to recover, he travels back to Edinburgh then, back to the tree where Loki had made a temporary home. Yet still it does not work — not even as he clings desperately to the bark, ground all but crumbling under Mjolnir’s formidable magic.

The blue orb wrapped around the hammer’s shaft doesn’t so much as flicker, no matter how hard Thor tries to make the spell work.

Confused and increasingly worried that the Other-Loki’s words were naught but lies, he travels then to Vanaheim, his final idea. The snow there lies thick on the ground. Thor trudges through it with determination as he locates the same forest location from all those centuries ago. It takes him many days to find the exact place, of course, given the forest’s vastness and Mjolnir’s distraction, but eventually he manages.

The tall tree is still as imposing as it had been, and Thor feels sick to his stomach with anticipation.

If this does not work, his brother may be lost to him forever.

Taking a deep breath, he swings Mjolnir’s heft into the air. Its elemental magic cracks open the sky and whiteness descends down, blinding in its intensity. The tree is in flames within seconds, and then a spectacular burst of colour — _every_ colour of the rainbow dazzling the sky as a cloud of smoke permeates the air around Thor, blinding his vision once more and blasting him backwards.

When the smoke settles, and the tree is nothing but cinders and charcoal atop snow, Loki is left standing there in its wake.

“You _fool_ ,” Loki growls into Thor’s disbelieving mouth, after only a second of realisation and uncertainty, taking two wide strides to close the distance between them and pushing his brother back onto the ground where he’d just fallen. The tears fall as readily, too.

“I said that I would never give up on you again,” Thor manages after a while, through desperate kisses, “and I meant it.”

They are still in the open wilderness of the Vanaheim forest, but the world does not exist to them in this moment. No world does. Not as Loki lies atop Thor, kisses him, undresses him, scatters garments into the snow without a second thought to anyone or anything except the heat of his brother beneath him, solid and true.

Then somehow, Loki gathers a slice of control. Takes a moment to simply breathe, _be_ , and his heart breaks at endlessly pained blue.

In all honesty, he has never seen Thor so upset. Not in all of their years. Recent events have clearly taken a toll on his brother’s body; Loki notes that Thor is notably thinner and much more willowy than he’s ever seen him. Skin less golden and more pale than usual against the snow, a physical reminder of how much Thor must have suffered, sacrificed and endured during these past months of torture, nothing but blind faith steering him towards resolve.

Though of course, Thor is still _Thor_. He is still strong and muscular, still bulkier than Loki even when weakened. Loki relishes the power in the muscles beneath him as he kisses every available inch of body with reverence, wasting no time when he reaches Thor’s hardened cock — dragging his tongue along it and inhaling the scent before dipping down only to pull away.

Frantic, he undresses himself then, pressing his body flush against Thor when finished in a bid to calm his soul, looking into sapphire eyes still glassy with tears.

They both tremble, gasping in each other’s air in-between lovely little kisses, all the while unable to get enough of one another’s skin, dragging fingers across flesh both familiar and somehow brand new.

Thor brings his hands upwards, holds Loki’s face in his warm, still-shaking palms. Tears continue to freely roll across skin, into blonde hair splayed across snow, as Thor inhales deeply the forest air into his lungs. “I thought,” he starts, looking into the concerned, adoring eyes of green above before breaking into another sob, “I thought I had lost you forever. Brother, it broke my heart.”

Loki’s own tears drip down onto Thor’s face, just as free and pained, heart unable to deny them. “I know,” he says — and this time, he really _does_. “Forgive me, my brother.” He drags his tongue across the hot, salty dampness of Thor’s jaw, feeling the sob turn into choked moan that escapes from throat as he does so.

Loki whispers a thousand sorries into his brother’s skin in the hours to come, words and actions of comfort, adoration and promise as Thor thrusts up into his heat, electric and consumed.

***

Many hours later, Loki rests atop his peacefully sleeping brother, relishing the tight-knit embrace. A thunderstorm night calmed into a silent sunrise across a fresh blanket of snow, and Thor’s heavy, steady breathing tingles his aching bones. Loki himself has been awake for at least an hour now, lost still to the bliss of it all.

Then, intuition tingles with something more than the cold, elemental air around them.

They are being watched.

Loki senses it. A presence. He rolls his eyes to where he knows the silent observer stands, gazing intently, and holds his breath in anticipation.

The kottsnær watches them, in plain sight, formidable in the snow now as ever it was. Loki _knows_ that it is somehow the same creature, impossibly survived after all of these centuries — survived Thor’s might and Loki’s hatred borne from fear; perhaps through luck, or perhaps through sheer tenacity. More likely a combination of these and many other factors, staggering and imposing alike.

Its eyes glow a fierce, blazing green, openly _terrifying_ , but Loki does not move; does not falter, doesn’t even _flinch,_ despite his own utterly defenceless position.

They stare at each other for a long moment, frozen in their positions, while Thor remains blissfully asleep. Then, the creature makes its mind up. It huffs out a plume of air through its nostrils and forgives Loki, stalking away without a second glance.

Just like that.

Loki blinks, and the corners of his mouth turn into a smile. He lets out a heavy breath of relief.

His gaze casts over Mjolnir, then. It lies forgotten in the snow, orb wrapped around its shaft. He shifts his position and looks down toward its wielder, heart still heavy with words unsaid, despite their recent reification.

Now Loki sees, _feels_ how Thor suffers equal to he. How they cannot live without one another.

He gives him a gentle shake. “I have words I wish to share with you, brother.” Loki hates the thought of saying it aloud, such raw emotions making him feel utterly exposed. But say it, he must. “Indulge me before I change my mind.”

Thor’s eyes flicker open, wistful. “You do not need to,” he says, smiling then. “You have shown me your words already in a language I speak more fluidly.”

“Perhaps, but still.” Loki wraps his hands around Thor’s neck, inhaling the heavy breath of relief from moments before back into weary lungs. “Please.”

Thor’s expression loses its mirth, but he nods in compliance.

“For all of this time, for _so long_ , I have tested you most hideously, Thor. My madness made me greedy and selfish for your love. It consumed me. My love for you has _ever_ consumed me, actually. I realised this many years ago, when we were young boys. How could I _not_ love you, when the entire realm did so?”

“Loki…” Thor starts, worried where the path will lead them.

“But as we grew, I realised that I loved you differently. I…I loved you _more_.” Bitterness claws its way up Loki’s throat, demanding itself be heard. “They did not know you as I did, so how _could_ they love you as they so vehemently claimed?”

“Nobody has ever known me as you have, my brother,” Thor wagers, honest, and suddenly the bitterness is somewhat abated.

“You were not what people thought you were, Thor. Not as perfect as they willed you to be. You were unready to be king, and I was the only one not blindsided by your charm to do something about it. And then… it all went awry. I found out I was the _exact_ thing that people had always willed me to be.”

“ _Loki_ …”

“Consumed by lies. Truly a monster.” Green eyes blink back tears, and his voice quavers with sorrow. “When you returned from Midgard after being cast out, oh how I hated you then, brother. You had changed for the _better_. Left me forgotten when I needed you most of all—”

“You lied to me, Loki—”

“I have _always lied_ ,” Loki snaps through his tears, clawing at the snow with his fingertips. “That does not mean I ever stopped loving you!”

“I know,” Thor silences, brushes Loki’s hair away from where it falls wildly around his face. The motion is soothing enough to help Loki continue with a little more composure, as he rests his head back on the solid rattle of Thor’s chest, listening to his hammering heart.

“My very worst nightmare was realised that day in the Vault. Not just a liar — I _was_ a lie.”

“That was no fault of your own.”

“I hated you even more, then,” Loki continues, ignoring Thor’s words — too incredulous now at his own thoughts. “ _Me_ , a monster, and still you claimed to love me, perfect as you had become? Preposterous. How could I ever hope to be your equal after that?”

“Loki,” Thor says now, barely a whisper, pleading with his brother to see sense.

Loki’s eyes are met with impossible blue once more, cutting to his soul like a knife. “Madness, power and fear corrupted me. I revelled in blaming and hating you, never believing that you could actually feel the same, equal love for me. Never believing that I deserved it.”

Thor says nothing at this. How could he? It pains him to his core. Instead, he continues to stare up at his brother, unsure who is the more broken out of the two of them.

“Now I can see how wrong I truly was.” Loki closes his eyes before continuing; an act of necessary composure. “Wrapped around your neck as you dedicated your time to finding me again, I _know_ now how you feel — it is a truth I can no longer deny myself. And even if the rest of the universe loathes me still, it matters not. Truly. It doesn’t.”

“I have never stopped—”

“I know,” Loki smiles, face glistened with tears as his fingers tremble their way through Thor’s hair. “And I know that even in the height of my worst madness you would love me still, you _have_ always loved me still, and that you will always find me eventually. In life or in death. Whether I wish to be found or not.”

“Life without you—” Thor starts, hesitates, struggles to finish. “It was unbearable every single time.”

“I know,” Loki says. He _does_ know. He had been too scared to show his love for Thor for fear of appearing weak, never realising that such love was returned in earnest. Never realising that it made him _stronger_. He smiles again, fondly. “My delusions of grandeur, my wickedness and lies are ceased. I do not want to be you, Thor, nor do I wish to be considered your equal. Simply, I want you.”

So painfully obvious, with the benefit of hindsight and a fresh pair of eyes to look upon it. Loki kisses his brother’s lips, laced with promise. “I am thankful for you, Thor. For your love eternal.”

“My brother,” Thor breathes, reverent, and Loki feels the words vibrate from throat to fingers. “Ever eloquent. How you complete me.” There is adoration in his eyes. Forgiveness. Love.

“As do you for I,” Loki says, brushing his nose against Thor’s. He takes another deep breath. “I love you,” he says, finally. Words unheard by Thor since their childhood, but words that have never stopped being true. “Always know this.”

Thor’s face is the definition of joy itself.

“I love you too,” he says, with the most beautiful smile. “My brother.”

Loki finds himself uttering the words again and again, a burst dam now that he has uttered them aloud to the person they have ever belonged to.

“I love you; I am _in_ love with you,” he continues, covering Thor with kisses all over his smiling face. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” he adds, after a long while and a hundred more presses of their lips, with a playful hint of sarcasm and a jaw ever so slightly clenched from his own stubbornness.

And then mischief glints in blue eyes; Thor rolls Loki onto his back, throwing all of his weight on top of him. Even through the rich fabric of the heavy fur cloak, the snow stings at Loki’s skin — Jotunn he may have been born, but he is sensitive to the cold as any Aesir would be. More so, in fact.

“Let us see how _your_ rear-end fares against such harsh conditions,” Thor lilts. His expression is etched with naughtiness that Loki laps up quite literally, rolling his tongue in languid appreciation across every contour of his brother’s face before nibbling on his jawline once more.

“Be careful with your choosing of words, brother,” Loki wagers into the shell of his ear, “for I expect you to render me numb in other ways yet.”

Thor groans at the supposition, burying his face into Loki’s neck and biting at the skin there for a while before grabbing the luxurious red cloak from under him and wrapping it around their bodies, cocooning them within their own mingled breathing and heated flesh.

They do not jest any further, do not have cause to speak. It is beyond verbal definition, their love; it always has been.

Instead, Thor fucks Loki into the cape until they are both adequately sated and exhausted.

***

“We could rule Asgard as one, you know,” Thor says nonchalantly, nuzzled into Loki’s ear while cradling him from behind. They are on Vanaheim still, pressed close together as another sun sets golden beyond the forest’s green. “Have you ever thought about it before, brother?”

Loki enjoys the ever protective feeling of Thor’s warmth, but is quite taken aback by his words.

“What, like your _queen_?” he scoffs, albeit gently. “I know I can be easily be fluid between genders if I desire, Thor, but I _don’t think so…_ ”

“No. Not like a queen, if that isn’t your desire.” Thor turns him around now, imploring with eyes so blue and earnest. “You can be not _my_ king, but _the_ king. Both of us could share the title.”

“A ridiculous notion,” Loki wagers, because it _is_.

Though that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t consider it.

“It is not so ridiculous, Loki,” Thor says, petulance creeping into reason as his fingers twirl strands of Loki’s soft black hair. “We are strongest when we work together. Unified. It is no secret. You are no match for my physical strength and I am no match for your stunning intellect. Brother, we are the perfect duo for the throne.”

Loki closes his eyes now, willing the idealistic image from his mind. “People would gossip,” he says, remembering that Asgard would likely not permit the nature of their relationship under any circumstances.

“So let them gossip,” Thor lilts. “For it is true. I love you, Loki. I care not what people think of it.”

“They would _revolt_.”

Thor pauses now, frowns. “Then we would punish them for their narrow minds.”

“No, we would not. You don’t have it in you to be so cruel, Thor.” It is true. Even Loki thinks _he_ could not be so cruel, after everything. “Besides, I would neither feel nor _be_ accepted in Asgard myself. Not after how I have betrayed its patrons over the years. Odin would have me rot away in a cell. Or worse.” He buries his face in the crook of Thor’s neck. “And I would not blame them.”

“We have both betrayed Asgard in our own way,” Thor says after a while, a statement tinged with regret and sadness. “Perhaps then, Midgard remains the only rightful home for us at this moment.”

“Perhaps,” Loki nods, and wills away the feeling in his stomach.

***

So Midgard is where they choose. They know it will only ever serve as a temporary retreat from their true duties, but despite this they disappear in utter selfishness. A certain little cave, belonging to the rough Northernmost Islands of Scotland…

Using his own seidr and Thor’s elemental might, they put a magical concealment on the cave and its surrounding area, so powerful that even the most accomplished sorcerer could not penetrate it — even if they could in the first place know where to look.

Hidden from Asgard, Midgard, hidden from everything besides each other. They feel that they have earned it.

It’s a cold morning. Loki is wrapped in a blanket, huddled beside the hours-old fire that’s still giving off heat, boiling the cast-iron teapot over orange flames. They have been retreating — or hiding — here for little more than a week now, but the time spent together already feels like a lifetime of bliss that Loki would never tire of. He had never thought that pitifully short fragments of time could provide such nourishment for the soul, in fact. Perhaps he could grow to appreciate Midgard’s way of existence after all.

The sunrise permeates through cracks in the cave, adding to the already twinkling illumination of the room, ambient-lit from both the steady flames of firelight and the incandescent gem-coloured bulbs that adorn the walls; so many different ways of casting light and shadow in the cosy space that is their temporary home. After a brief moment, he turns his steadfast attention back to Thor, who remains soundly asleep.

Already, Thor’s body looks to be recovering from its recent plights. He looks as golden as ever now, particularly while he captures the varying glows of light as he lies on his side, muscular and strong, sheets ruffled down to the slope of his hips. Loki looks down to his own skin; he’s dipped in more shadows, paler, darker.

The pot hisses as it boils over. Thor rouses, then. His eyes add fierce brightness to a happy expression as he focuses on Loki alone, clearly drinking in the sight of him.

“Good morning, brother.” A large hand lifts the bedsheets up without hesitation, inviting Loki to the welcoming warmth of naked flesh. “Come back to bed, won’t you?”

Loki glances down at the rest of Thor’s beautiful sculpted body and does not need to think twice about it. Returning the smile, he takes the pot off of the boil — leaving it to simmer down on the stone floor while he climbs beside his brother, nestling himself into the endless comfort and warmth he finds there. The task is not fully abandoned. He will return to it later, most likely.

For now, he lets his mind ponder recent events.

Loki has been thinking about the past in a different light recently. It is an unlikely notion, he knows, but still a refreshing speculation nonetheless when compared with the preceding years of mental anguish…

Part of him wonders that when Odin rescued him all those years ago from the cruel depths of Jotunheim, whether he had done so with something like this as a plan all along.

“What lingers in your mind?” Thor asks, noting how the look Loki wears indicates he’s currently caught in a well of his own emotions. “Share your troubles with me, brother.”

“The past,” Loki says without hesitation, proud of his own emotional honesty. He smiles, so that Thor may know that though this is a contemplation, it is not necessarily a troubled one. There is a gentle silence between them.

“We should be ever thankful of the past, I think,” Thor notes after a while, fondness and wistfulness in his eyes alike. “Its stories teach us much that we need to learn from.”

As Thor wraps his arms around him and loosely fondles his hair, massaging his scalp with reverent fingers, Loki feels his mind drift off. Then, Thor pulls him right back to the present with a searing kiss on the lips, a taste of adoration and desire as he shifts their positions; presses his body atop of Loki’s, insatiable and delicious.

Indeed, it is plausible that right from the beginning, Loki always _was_ destined to live and fight beside Thor, a conflicting contradiction lurking in his shadow.

Though perhaps that is not such a bad turn of fate however, when Loki can now distinguish the difference; accepts that he is to live and fight _alongside_ , not _against_ , and gets to share the rewards of his brother, gets to bask in such mesmerisingly beautiful light that he has helped sculpt right from the beginning— shadow and light of equal worth.

In this, he finally accepts too that they are _both_ defined by each other, their past, present and future inextricably shared.

Sharing the bed, it turns out, isn’t so bad either.

“How thankful I am that my story is rewritten, brother,” Loki says breathlessly, finally continuing aloud his thoughts, hand splayed over a heaving chest — holding Thor steady beneath him just after the final, lingering ebb of what was a slow and most indulgent orgasm; a sensual, exquisite picture of undone pleasure. A beam of pure sunlight shines down on them both from a slither in the cave, radiant and beautiful. “And how pleased I am that the story was never just mine to rewrite.”

Thor smiles in return, pulling Loki flush against his body while capturing clever lips with his own.

Their universe will take a while to rebuild, but finally, all is well.


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you have it - the end!  
> I hope you all enjoyed this story, and I want to thank you again for every comment, kudo or bookmark given. Means the world to me.
> 
> Btw, this fic is *just* short of being 50k; I took out a scene in this chapter due to a last second change of heart. It features Jotunn Loki and is a lovely moment but... I dunno. Just couldn't seem to make it flow well here when editing. *shrugs* I might post it as an outtake or something.
> 
> Blah. Anyway. Enjoy!

_Five months later…_

Loki and Thor lay about idle in their cosy cave. They’ve had a day like many others of recent: languid, indulgent exertion. First sex, then laughter, food, more laughter, then more sex. Thor is pleasantly drowsy, a smile across his lips as he lies in bed. He watches Loki stand up, utterly naked, and prod at the fire’s flames with a poker.

“Tea?” Loki asks, coy, and with a quick flick of his wrist a goblet appears. “Something stronger, perhaps?” 

“Norns,” Thor says in gravelly reply, a filthy smile across his lips now. “Any more liquid from you today and I would surely burst.”

Loki laughs from deep within his belly then, and the goblet disappears as quickly as it arrived. He reaches for the cast iron teapot instead, filling it with water and placing it over the flames. 

Then, Loki feels it. A lingering thread of magic, pulled by something unknown. It beckons, draws him outside of the cave…

“Be a good darling and prepare me a cup,” he says, feigning nonchalance as he pulls Thor’s red hooded jumper over his head. “I’m going to check the weather. Get some fresh air.”

“You could just ask me,” Thor says. “Thunder later, I think.” Loki smiles at this, but continues to dress and so Thor begins to worry. “What troubles you?”

“Probably nothing.” Loki hesitates.

Thor sits upright, covers sloping to his hips, “I will come with you.”

“No,” Loki affirms, though his voice remains kind. “Wait until the pot has boiled. If I’m not returned, then follow after me.”

Reluctant, Thor nods in agreement. Trust.

When Loki knowingly twists and turns through darkness to reach the entrance of the cave, there is a magpie waiting for him atop a rock.

 _That_ magpie.

“Ikol?” Loki says, somewhat aggrieved, though relief washes over him too. The bird rawks and then speaks in an all-too familiar voice.

“Wanna come see something cool?”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On your definition of _cool_.”

The magpie laughs and rawks some more, flapping its wings. “Trust me.”

Loki cannot argue this. He nods, and within a matter of seconds he is pulled from away from the comfort his universe. Another version of himself smiles. 

“You’ve taken the female form, I see,” Loki notes as he observes his likeness.

Other-Loki shrugs his now dainty shoulders. “What can I say? I slay in black lipstick and heavy eyeliner. Not to mention my perky little—”

“That’s quite enough,” Loki chides. He looks around. This is not the whiteness of The Nothing. He can touch, feel the surroundings. They are on a metal peak of a bridge, solid and massive. “Why have you summoned me? Where are we?”

“New universe,” Other-Loki says casually. “I helped rebuild it. No biggie or anything.”

Loki rolls his eyes, but he _is_ impressed at the view across the unknown city before him. 

“Midgard.” Other-Loki continues. “All a bit volatile and new, but ain’t she a beauty?”

And Loki has to agree. The sun is setting over the realm in spectacular hues of gold, orange and lilac, and the breeze around them is gentle and cool, bring with it the comforting smell of sea salt and fresh air. 

Other-Loki’s eyes dance, irises bright against the dark kohl and mascara. “Wanna see my Asgard too?”

Before Loki has chance enough to answer, they’re atop a golden citadel, both familiar and strange alike. The city beneath them glistens, radiates.

Suddenly, Loki is pining for home — a home where he thought he’d stopped belonging long ago.

“It’s actually called Asgardia these days,” Other-Loki says. “And things are a little different. Still far from perfect.”

“Impressive nonetheless,” Loki heeds, feeling his throat tighten with emotion as he continues to look across the majestic landscape. “Beautiful, despite any flaws.”

“Aye. Amazing really, what a little bunch of stories can create,” Other-Loki says knowingly, throat clearing followed by silence. “How fares Thor?”

Loki quirks his eyebrow, wondering if his counterpart already knows the information requested.

“He is well. Very well, actually. We both are.” Looking the Other-Loki up and down, a thought enters his mind. “How fares your _BFF_?”

“Verity is very well,” Other-Loki says, grin wide. “And no longer a weird grey ghost. We’re having a catchup dinner tonight, actually. She’s a bit, er, ‘pissed off’ at me for spending so much time here. But I’m making a veggie quiche tonight, so it all evens out in the end.”

“Hmm. Good luck with that.”

“I’ll let her know you’re well. She’ll be pleased.”

Loki clears _his_ throat now. “And how fares your Thor?”

“The Odinson is…” Other-Loki’s eyes go wistful, “is… at least enjoying my latest incarnation in some ways.”

Loki clears his throat again. “Oh.”

“With _gusto_ , in fact. Granted, I still have a nice hard—”

“That’s lovely,” Loki interrupts. “I’m very pleased for you.”

Other-Loki smirks, then the smirk dissolves into a genuine smile as he takes in the view. “Would you like to see more of the realm?”

“I think I have seen enough,” Loki says in return. “But I thank you. For everything, truly. From the bottom of my heart.”

Other-Loki nods, tilts his head in silent acknowledgement. Black varnished nails summon magic to the palm of a pale hand, clever fingers forming a cast that will no doubt sever the final thread once and for all. “Good luck in your new universe, Loki,” he says, kohl-lined eyes finally filled with satisfaction.

“And you in yours,” Loki replies, as he fades from the universe and back into to his own. 

When he makes his way back into the depths of the cave, Thor has just taken the bubbling water from the fire and is pouring it into his preferred cup.

“What was it?”

“My scruffy likeness has had a makeover, it seems.” Loki laughs, lips tight as he sips at the hot liquid. “Quite different. And yet somehow the same.”

“So all is well?”

“All is well.” Loki smiles, places down the cup. “And I have developed a renewed thirst…” His eyes dazzle with challenge, “Or are you brim-filled still from our last coupling?”

“ _Brother_ ,” Thor says, chuckling as he lowers Loki onto the plush furs, spreading his legs wide open. “You insult my prowess.”

As they indulge in one another once more, the fire flickers with tinges of red, green and hot white: their seidr-entwined sex prominent in the very air. 

Afterwards, they relax, doze— Loki’s front pressed up against Thor’s back. He revels in the heat from the firm press of their muscles, inhaling deeply his brother’s scent trapped in long, blonde hair. His friend. His lover. His kindred.

“Perhaps one day, we should travel back to Asgard,” he says, leaving the statement hanging open in the air and rousing Thor from beckoning slumber. 

Thor turns around, eyes imploring and mouth tight. They remain in silence for a long while, until Thor curls his fingers around the nape of Loki’s neck, sucks in his breath. 

“Perhaps,” he says in reply, low and thoughtful.

They kiss, and each think of home.

***

Many of the Aesir suspect now that the brothers are on Midgard, shunning their responsibilities by revelling in selfishness. Hela has seen to it that gossip is fuelled of the brothers’ carnality, though nobody will vocalise any supposition on the count of heresy. Also, nobody _quite_ believes either god capable of such action, still thinking them related through blood, and Thor too honourable even in his abandonment to commit to any such behaviour.

When the truth will eventually come out, as always it does, Loki knows that he will be accused of deceiving, bewitching and tricking. He knows that the people of Asgard will hate him, blame him alone for the wretched tale they hear. They will not understand how their coupling came to pass, nor how love cannot always be defined in simple terms.

What Loki does not yet know is that indeed the Aesir _will_ hate him still — but not as bitterly as perhaps they should, and not as much as they once would have done. Simply, the realms have been through enough; consequently time and genuine redemption will provide a forgiveness that would likely not be granted otherwise.

In so many ways after all, Loki was unforgivable. But Thor forgave him anyway.

It would always be thus. Theirs was a tale of mistakes and foolish actions, but it has ever been laced with a crazed form of love and devotion — even during times of hatred and abandonment.

That much will never change. In fact, there will likely be more mistakes to come, but Loki knows now that they will be fuelled by mischief only and never burning with such wicked malice of their past. He knows this because he could have every last fragment of Infinity Stone reconstructed and offered to him, proudly presented on the gauntlet itself, and would refuse its temptation every single time. The gems affected everyone they touched in some way, but they’d taught Loki more than most, and recent events have taught him further still. Loki’s infinity needed not altering: not as long as he was truly reconciled with his brother, and truly free to make his own decisions. Be his _true_ self. 

And Loki has nothing to prove now that he no longer lives life under the grip of a wicked, spiteful, pride-dripping ego.

He knows that none of this would have been possible without the _Other_ -Loki. The ex-agent of another Asgard, who tricked him into an almost eternity of existing only as a story, naught but a blue orb tied around his brother’s neck.

Loki remembers those words of _“trust me,”_ uttered months before through a crooked smile, and he’s grateful that he did choose to trust that strange counterpart. 

He’s even more grateful that finally he has learned to trust _himself_. 

When he was alone and hopelessly fighting in the War of Infinity, drawn up to that void in space, Loki had not understood why Thor had turned his back on him, despite all the ways he’d had tried to change, tried to avenge. But he understands well enough now. Change must always come about through one’s own yearning and effort to do so. Through the eyes of his younger self, and without the memories of tempting infinity gems warping his mind, without the pain of discovering his true heritage in the worst way imaginable, Loki could finally _see_ what he had to do. 

What he really desired.

***

The following day, as they walk up the rainbow bridge together hand-in-hand, not knowing whether the awaiting fate will be cruel or kind, Loki knows that nothing — no treasure or power across _any_ universe could mean more to him than this.

Loki loves Thor with all of his heart. Whatever happens next, this truth will never die. Between the two of them at least, their universe is already miraculously rebuilt. Their story beautifully rewritten, forever entwined. 


End file.
